Wormwoob 


H Drama  of  Paris 

*e 

fIDarie  Corelli 

Hutbot  of  “Wentetta,”  "flbtlma,”  fife. 


Chicago 

Donobue,  Ibenneberrs  & Co. 

Emblisbcr? 


J- 


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SPECIAL  PREFACE  TO  THE 

AUTHORIZED  AMERICAN  EDITION. 


As  there  are  several  unauthorized  Editions  of  my  works, 
now  circulating  freely  in  the  United  States,  h is  but  fair 
to  the  publishers  of  the  present  volume  to  state  that  this 
issue  of  “ Wormwood ; A Drama  of  Paris,”  has  been  per- 
sonally revised  and  corrected  for  them  by  me,  and  is  the 
Only  Authorised  version  for  America.  Other  novels  of 
mine  notably  “ A Romance  of  Two  Worlds,”  “Thelma, 
Vendetta.’  ” and  “ Ardath  ” are  to  be  had  in  various 
forms  at  all  prices  throughout  the  States ; needless  to  say 
that  these  have  been  .published  without  any  reference  to 
me  as  author,  and,  having  been  brought  out  in  unseemly 
haste  and  carelessness,  are  full  cf  the  grossest  errors  and 
mistakes,  for  which  I,  naturally,  cannot  be  responsible* 
That' the  “Romance  of  Two  Worlds”  for  example,  ap- 
pealed in  New  York  with  a misleading  picture-cover 
representing  the  Eastern  and  Western  hemispheres, 
whereas  the  story  itself  concerns  this  world  and  the  next, 
merely  shows  the  zeal  of  the  enterprising  publisher  who 
produced  it  at  all  risks  without  reading  it ; — and  that  the 
American  editions  of  “ Vendetta  ! ” contain  the  maddest 
misprints  in  certain  Italian  idiomatic  expressions,  must 
not  be  set  down  to  my  charge  as  to  one  ignorant  of  the 
Italian  language,  but  to  the  admirably  “ go-  ahead  individ- 
uals in  the  book-trade  who  “ rushed  it  through  , for  the 
American  public.  I have  reason  to  love  America  for  the 
sake  of  the  many  friends  my  writings  have  won  for  me 
there ; friends  whose  faces  I have  never  seen,  but  who 
Correspond  frequently  with  me  and  whom  I seem  farrliK 


« AH 


4 SPE  CIA  L PREFA  CE. 

iarly  to  know  through  the  kindly  written  expression  of 
their  thomghts ; — and  it  is,  I presume,  not  an  unnatural 
desire  «n  my  part  that  such  should,  when  reading  my 
books,  at  least  have  the  advantage  of  reading  them  as 
they  were  originally  written.  With  regard  to  the  present 
story,  which  I trust  may  help  to  rouse  public  attention  to 
a pernicious  Evil  which  is  gradually  spreading  over  all 
the  European  Continent,  I believe  most  intelligent  Ameri- 
cans who  have  visited  Paris  will  read  it  with  more  or 
less  anxious  interest.  It  was,  I think,  a distinguished 
American  Senator  who  quite  recently  wrote  a long  and 
exhaustive  practical  account  of  incalculable  mischief 
wrought  by  the  Poison-craze  whose  dire  effects  on  one 
individual  I have  attempted  to  depict ; and  if  one  or  two 
more  leaders  among  thinkers,  physiologists  and  scientists 
would  raise  their  voices  to  aid  in  denouncing  this  fatal 
brain-degradation  and  bringing  it  well  before  the  con- 
sideration of  those  who  are  the  heads  of  authority  in 
France,  it  might  be  checked  in  its  destructive  progress, 
and,  with  a little  earnest  and  decisive  work,  be  stamped 
out  altogether,  as  a disease  is  stamped  out  by  perfect 
sanitation.  In  this  hope  I have  written  “ Wormwood  ” ; 
in  this  spirit  I trust  it  may  be  received. 

Marie  Corelli 

London,  October  24, 1890. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


The  unhappy  hero  of  the  following  drame  is  presented 
to  English  readers,  not  as  an  example  of  what  is  excep- 
tionally tragic  and  uncommon,  but  simply  as  a very  ordi- 
nary type  of  a large  and  ever-increasing  class.  Men  such 
as  “ Gaston  Beauvais  ” are  to  be  met  with  every  day  in 
Paris, — and  not  only  in  Paris,  but  in  every  part  of  the 
Continent  where  the  Curse,  which  forms  the  subject  of* 
this  story,  has  any  sort  of  sway.  The  morbidness  of  the 
modern  French  mind  is  well  known  and  universally  ad- 
mitted, even  by  the  French  themselves;  the  open  athe- 
ism, heartlessness,  flippancy,  and  flagrant  immorality  of 
the  whole  modern  French  school  of  thought  is  unques» 
tioned.  If  a crime  of  more  than  usual  cold-blooded  atro- 
city is  committed,  it  generally  dates  from  Paris,  or  near  it ; 
— if  a book  or  a picture  is  produced  that  is  confessedly 
obscene,  the  author  or  artist  is,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten, 
discovered  to  be  a Frenchman.  The  shop-windows  and 
bookstalls  of  Paris  are  of  themselves  sufficient  witnesses 
of  the  national  taste  in  art  and  literature, — a national  taste 
for  vice  and  indecent  vulgarity  which  cannot  be  too  sin- 
cerely and  compassionately  deplored.  There  are,  no 
doubt,  many  causes  for  the  wretchedly  low  standard  of 
moral  responsibility  and  fine  feeling  displayed  by  the  Paris- 
ians of  to-day — but  I do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  one  of 
those  causes  is  undoubtedly  the  reckless  Absinthe-mania, 
which  pervades  all  classes,  rich  and  poor  alike.  Every 
one  knows  that  in  Paris  the  men  have  certain  hours  set 
apart  for  the  indulgence  of  this  fatal  craze  as  religiously 
as  Mussulmen  have  their  hours  for  prayer, — and  in  a very 
short  time  the  love  of  the  hideous  poison  clings  so  closely 
to  their  blood  and  system  that  it  becomes  an  absolute 

5 ' 


6 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


necessity  of  existence.  The  effects  of  its  rapid  working 
on  the  human  brain  are  beyond  all  imagination  horrible 
and  incurable,  and  no  romancist  can  exaggerate  the  ter- 
rific reality  of  the  evil.  If  any  of  my  readers  are  disposed 
to  doubt  the  possibility  of  the  incidents  in  my  story  or  to 
think  the  details  exaggerated,  let  such  make  due  inquiries 
of  any  leading  member  of  the  French  medical  faculty  as 
to  the  actual  meaning  of  Absinthism,  and  the  measured 
statement  of  the  physician  will  seem  wilder  than  the  wild- 
est tragedy.  Moreover,  it  is  not  as  if  this  dreadful  frenzy 
affected  a few  individuals  merely, — it  has  crept  into  the 
brain  of  France  as  a nation,  and  there  breeds  perpetual 
mischief, — and  from  France  it  has  spread,  and  is  still 
spreading,  over  the  entire  Continent  of  Europe.  It  must 
also  be  remembered  that  in  the  many  French  cafes  and 
restaurants  which  have  recently  sprung  up  in  London, 
Absinthe  is  always  to  be  obtained  at  its  customary  low 
price, — French  habits,  French  fashions,  French  books, 
French  pictures,  are  particularly  favored  by  the  English, 
and  who  can  predict  that  French  drug-drinking  shall 
not  also  become  a la  mode  in  Britain  ? — -particularly  at  a 
period  when  our  medical  men  are  bound  to  admit  that 
the  love  of  Morphia  is  fast  becoming  almost  a mania  with 
hundreds  of  English  women  ! 

In  the  present  story  I have,  as  I say,  selected  a merely 
ordinary  Parisian  type ; there  are  of  course  infinitely 
worse  examples  who  have,  not  even  the  shadow  of  a love- 
disappointment  to  excuse  them  for  their  self-indulgence. 
All  I ask  of  my  readers  and  critics  is  that  they  will  kindly 
refrain  from  setting  down  my  hero’s  opinions  on  men  and 
things  to  me  personally,  as  they  wTere  unwise  enough  to  do 
in  the  case  of  a previous  novel  of  mine  entitled  “Ven- 
detta ! ” When  an  author  depicts  a character,  he  is  not 
of  necessity  that  characte*r  himself  ; it  would  have  been 
somewhat  unfair  to  Balzac,  for  example,  to  have  endowed 
him,  when  a living  man,  with  the  extraordinary  ideas  and 
outrageous  principles  of  his  matchless  artistic  creation 
Pere  Goriot.”  I have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the 
wretched  “ Gaston  Beauvais  ” beyond  the  portraiture  of 
him  in  his  own  necessarily  lurid  colors ; — while  for  the 
description  of  the  low-class  “ bal  masque  ” in  Paris,  I am 
in  a great  measure  indebted  to  a very  respectable-looking 
English  tourist,  who  by  his  dress  was  evidently  of  some 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


7 


religious  persuasion,  and  whom  I overheard  talking  to  a 
younger  man,  on  board  a steamer  going  from  Thun  to  In- 
terlaken. It  was  evidently  the  worthy  creature's  first 
trip  abroad, — he  had  visited  the  French  capital,  and  he 
detailed  to  his  friend,  a very  hilarious  individual,  certain 
of  his  most  lively  experiences  there.  I,  sitting  close  by 
in  a corner  unobserved,  listened  with  a good  deal  of  sur- 
prise as  well  as  amusement  to  his  enthusiastic  eulogy  of 
the  “ can-can  ”,  as  he  had  seen  it  danced  in  some  peculiar 
haunt  of  questionable  entertainment,  and  I took  calm  note 
thereof,  for  literary  use  hereafter.  The  most  delicate  feel- 
ings can  hardly  be  ruffled  by  an  honest  (and  pious) 
Britisher’s  raptures, — and  as  I have  included  these  rapt- 
ures in  my  story,  I beg  to  tender  my  thanks  to  the  un- 
known individual  who  so  unconsciously  furnished  me  with 
a glowing  description  of  what  I have  never  seen  and  never 
wish  to  see  ! 

For  the  rest,  my  “ drama  ” is  a true  phase  of  the  modern 
life  of  Paris  ; one  scene  out  of  the  countless  tragedies  that 
take  place  every  day  and  everywhere  in  these  our  present 
times.  There  is  no  necessity  to  invent  fables  nowadays, 
— the  hedonist  need  never  torture  his  brain  for  stories 
either  of  adventure  or  spectral  horror.  Life  itself  as  it  is 
lwed  among  ourselves  in  all  countries,  is  so  amazing, 
swift,  varied,  wonderful,  terrible,  ghastly,  beautiful,  dread- 
ful, and,  withal,  so  wildly  inconsistent  and  changeful,  that 
whosoever  desires  to  write  romances  has  only  to  closely 
and  patiently  observe  men  and  women  as  they  are , not  as 
they  seem, — and  then  take  pen  in  hand  and  write  the — - 
Truth. 

MARIE  CORELLI. 

Clarens,  Lake  Leman,  Switzerland, 

September , 1890. 


u And  the  name  of  the  star  is  called  WORM- 
WOOD : and  the  third  part  of  the  waters  be- 
came Wormwood  ; and  many  men  died  of  the 
waters,  because  they  were  made  bitte  * -Rev- 
ELATION  viii.  12 


“ Et  le  nom  de  cette  etoile  etait  ABSINTHE: 
et  la  troisieme  partie  des  eaux  fut  changee  en 
absinthe  ; et  elles  firent  mourir  un  grand  nom- 
bre  d’hommes  parce  qu’elles  e'taient  deveni^-- 
*_nieres.  ’ — Revelation  viii.  n ( Nouveau  Teste* 
'merit  Tranfais). 


I 


A MESSIEURS 

1.E3  ABSINTHEURS  DE  PARIS, 

CES  FANFARONS  DU  VICE 
QUI  SONT 

LA  HONTE  ET  LE  DESESPOIR  DE  LEUR  PATRIE. 


9 


WORMWOOD 


Silence, — silence  ! It  is  the  hour  of  the  deepest  hush 
of  night ; the  invisible  intangible  clouds  of  sleep  brood 
over  the  brilliant  city.  Sleep  ! What  is  it  ? Forgetful- 
ness ? • A sweet  unconsciousness  of  dreamless  rest.  Aye  1 
it  must.be  so,  if  I remember  rightly;  but  I cannot  be 
quite  sure,  for  it  seems  a century  since  I slept  well.  But 
what  of  that?  Does  any  one  sleep  well  nowadays,  save 
children  and  hard-worked  diggers  of  the  soil*?  We  who 
think— oh,  the  entanglements  and  perplexities  of  this 
perpetual  Thought ! — we  have  no  space  or  time  wherein 
to  slumber;  between  the  small  hours  of  midnight  and 
morning  we  rest  on  our  pillows  for  mere  form’s  sake,  and 
doze  and  dream, — but  we  do  not  sleep . 

Stay  ! let  me  consider.  What  am  I doing  here  so  late  ? 
why  am  I not  at  home  ? Why  do  I stand  alone  on  this 
bridge,  gazing  down  into  the  cold,  sparkling  water  of  the 
Seine — water  that,  to  my  mind,  resembles  a glittering 
glass  screen,  through  which  I see  faces  peering  up  at  me, 
white  and  aghast  with  a frozen  wonder ! How  they 
stare,  how  they  smile,  all  those  drowned  women  and  men  1 
Some  are  beautiful ; all  are  mournful.  I am  not  sorry  for 
them,  no  ! but  I am  sure  they  must  have  died  with  half 
their  griefs  unspoken,  to  look  so  wildly  even  in  death. 
Is  it  my  fancy,  or  do  they  want  something  of  me?  I feel 
impelled  towards  them — they  draw  me  downwards  by  a 
deadly  fascination,  I must  go  on,  or  else 

With  a violent  effort  I tear  myself  away,  and,  leaving 
the  bridge,  \ wander  slowly  homeward. 


ii 


12 


WORMWOOD . 


The  city  sleeps,  did  I say  ? Oh  no  ! Paris  is  not  so 
clean  of  conscience  or  so  pure  of  heart  that  its  inhabit- 
ants should  compose  themselves  to  rest  simply  because 
it  is  midnight.  There  are  hosts  of  people  about  and 
stirring  ; rich  aristocrats  for  instance,  whose  names  are 
blazoned  on  the  lists  of  honor  and  la  haute  noblesse,  can 
be  met  at  every  turn,  stalking  abroad  like  beasts  in  search 
of  prey ; they  are  the  painted  and  bedizened  outcasts 
who  draw  their  silken  skirts  scornfully  aside  from  any 
chance  of  contact  with  the  soiled  and  ragged  garments 
worn  by  the  wretched  and  starving  members  of  the  same 
deplorable  sisterhood ; and  every  now  and  again  the 
flashing  of  lamps  in  a passing  carriage  containing  some 
redoubtable  princess  of  the  demi-monde , assures  the 
beholder  of  the  fact  that,  however  soundly  virtue  may 
slumber,  vice  is  awake  and  rampant.  But  what  am  I 
that  I should  talk  of  vice  or  virtue  ? What  business  has 
a wreck  cast  on  the  shores  of  ruin  to  concern  itself  with 
the  distant  sailing  of  the  gaudy  ships  bound  for  the  same 
disastrous  end  ! 

How  my  brain  reels  ! The  hot  pavements  scorch  my 
tired  feet,  and  the  round  white  moon  looks  at  me  from  the 
sky  like  the  foolish  ghost  of  herself  in  a dream.  Street 
after  street  I pass,  scarcely  conscious  of  sight  or  sense ; 
I hardly  know  whither  I am  bound,  and  it  is  by  mere 
mechanical  instinct  alone  that  I finally  reach  my  desti- 
nation. ^ 

Home  at  last ! I recognize  the  dim  and  dirty  alley, 
the  tumbledown,  miserable  lodging-house  in  which,  of 
all  the  wretched  rooms  it  holds,  the  wretchedest  is  the 
garret  I call  mine.  That  gaunt  cat  is  always  on  the  door- 
step,— always  tearing  some  horrible  offal  she  has  found, 
with  claws  and  teeth — yet  savage  as  hunger  has  made  her 
she  is  afraid  of  me,  and  bounds  stealthily  aside  and  away 
as  I cross  the  threshold.  Two  men,  my  drunken  landlord 
and  his  no  less  drunken  brother,  are  quarrelling  furiously 
in  the  passage;  I shrink  past  them  unobserved  &nd  make 
my  way  up  the  dark  foul-smelling  staircase  to  my  narrow 
den,  where,  on  entering,  I jealously  lock  myself  in,  eager 
to  be  alone.  Alone,  alone — always  alone  ! I approach 
the  window  and  fling  it  wide  open  ; I rest  my  arms  on  the 
sill  and  look  out  drearily  at  the  vast  deep  star-besprinkled 
heaven. 


WORItf  1/00  D. 


*3 

They  were  cruel  to  me  to-night  at  the  caje , particularly 
that  young  curly-haired  student.  Who  is  he,  and  what  is 
he  ? I hate  him,  I know  not  why  ! except  that  he  reminds 
me  of  one  who  is  dead.  “ Do  not  drink  that,”  he  s*id 
gravely,  touching  the  glass  I held.  “ It  will  drive  you 
mad  some  day ! ” Drive  me  mad ! Good,  very  good  ! 
That  is  what  a great  many  people  have  told  me, — croakers 
all  ! Who  is  mad,  and  who  is  sane  ? It  is  not  easy  to 
decide.  The  world  has  various  ways  of  defining  insanity 
in  different  individuals.  The  genius  who  has  grand  ideas, 
and  fancies  he  can  realize  them  is  “ mad ; ” the  priest 
who,  like  Saint  Damien,  sacrifices  himself  for  others  is 
“mad,”  the  hero  who,  like  the  English  Gordon,  perishes 
at  his  post  instead  of  running  jtway  to  save  his  own  skin, 
is  “ mad,”  and  only  the  comfortable  tradesman  or  finan- 
cier who  amasses  millions  by  systematically  cheating  his 
fellows,  is  “ sane.”  Excellent  ! Let  me  be  mad,  then, 
by  all  means  ! mad  with  the  madness  of  Absinthe,  the 
wildest,  most  luxurious  madness  in  the  world ! Vive  la 
folie  ! Vive  V amour  ! Vive  F animalism  / Vive  le  Diable  I 
Live  everybody,  and  everything  that  can  live  without  a 
conscience,  for  conscience  is  at  a discount  in  this  age,  and 
honesty  cannot  keep  pace  with  our  modern  progress.  The 
times  are  as  we  make  them,  and  we  have  made  ours  those 
of  realism ; the  old  idyllic  days  of  faith  and  sentiment  are 
past. 

Those  cold  and  quiet  stars  ! What  innumerable  multi- 
tudes of  them  there  are  ! Why  were  they  created  ? 
Through  countless  centuries  bewildered  mankind  has 
gazed  at  them  and  asked  the  same  question, — a question 
never  to  be  answered, — a problem  never  to  be  solved. 
The  mind  soon  grows  fatigued  with  pondering.  It  is 
better  not  to  think.  Yet  one  good  thing  has  lately  come 
out  of  the  subtle  and  incessant  workings  of  intellect,  and 
that  is  that  we  need  not  trouble  ourselves  about  God 
any  more.  Nothing  in  all  the  vast  mechanism  of  the  uni- 
verse can  actually  prove  a Deity  to  be  existent ; and  no 
one  is  called  upon  to  believe  in  what  cannot  be  proved. 
I am  glad  of  this,  very  glad ; for  if  I thought  there  were 
a God  in  heaven — a Supreme  Justice  enthroned  in  some 
far-off  sphere  of  life  unseen  yet  eternal,  I think — I do  not 
know,  but  I think — I should  be  afraid  ! Afraid  of  the 
day,  afraid  of  the  night,  afraid  of  the  glassy  river,  with  its 


14 


WORMWOOD. 


thousands  of  drowned  eyes  below ; afraid,  perchance,  of 
my  own  -hovering  shadow ; and  still  more  darkly  dimly 
afraid  of  creatures  that  might  await  me  in  lands  invisible 
beyond  the  grave — phantom  creatures  that  I have 
wronged  as  much  and  haply  more  than  they  in  their  time 
wronged  me ! 

Yet,  after  all,  I am  no  coward;  and  why  should  I fear 
God,  supposing  a God  should,  notwithstanding  our  denial 
of  Him,  positively  exist  ? If  He  is  the  Author  of  Crea- 
tion, He  is  answerable  for  every  atom  within  it,  even  for 
me.  I have  done  evil.  What  then  ? Am  I the  only 
one  ? If  I have  sinned  more,  I have  also  suffered  more  * 
and  plenty  of  scientists  and  physiologists  could  be  found 
to  prove  that  my  faults  are  those  of  temperament  and 
brain-construction,  and  that^I  cannot  help  them  if  I would. 
Ah,  how  consoling  are  these  advanced  doctrines  ! No 
criminal  ought,  in  strict  justice,  to  be  punished  at  all,  see- 
ing that  it  is  his  inborn  nature  to  commit  crime,  ana  that 
he  cannot  alter  that  nature  even  if  he  tried  1 Only  a cant- 
ing priest  would  dare  to  ask  him  to  try ; and,  in  France 
at  least,  we  have  done  with  priestcraft. 

Well,  we  live  in  a great  and  wonderful  era,  and  we  have 
great  and  wonderful  needs — needs  which  must  be  supplied  ! 
One  of  our  chief  requirements  is  that  we  should  know  every- 
thing— even  things  that  used  for  honor  and  decency’s  sake 
to  be  concealed.  Wise  and  pure  and  beautiful  things  we 
have  had  enough  of.  They  belong  to  the  old  classic  days 
of  Greece  and  Rome,  the  ages  of  idyll  and  allegory;  and 
we  find  them  on  the  whole  rather  enmiyant . We  have 
developed  different  tastes.  We  want  the  ugly  truths  of 
life,  not  the  pretty  fables.  We  like  ugly  truths.  We  find 
them  piquant  and  palatable,  like  the  hot  sauce  poured 
on  fish  to  give  it  a flavor.  For  example,  the  story  of 
“ Paul  et  Virginie^  is  very  charming,  but  also  very  tame 
and  foolish.  It  suited  the  literary  spirit  of  the  time  in 
which  it  was  written ; but  to  us  in  the  present  day  there 
is  something  far  more  entrdinant  in  a novel  which  faith- 
fully describes  the  love-making  of  Jeanne  the  washer-wo- 
man with  Jacques  the  rag-picker.  We  prefer  their  coarse 
amours  to  Virginie’s  tearful  sentiment — autres  temps,  autres 
moeurs . I thought  of  this  yesterday,  when,  strolling  aim- 
lessly across  the  Pont  Neuf,  I glanced  at  the  various  titles 
of  the  books  for  sale  on  the  open  air  counters  and  saw 


WORMWOOD. 


r5 


Realism  represented  to  the  last  dregs  of  reality.  And  then 
I began  to  consider  what  the  story  of  my  life  would  look 
like  when  written,  and  what  people  would  think  of  it  if 
they  read  it.  This  idea  has  haunted  me  all  last  night  and 
to-day.  I have  turned  ic  over  and  over  again  in  my  mind 
with  a certain  savage  amusement.  Dear  old  world  ! dear 
Society  ! will  you  believe  me  if  I tell  you  what  lam?  No, 
I am  sure  you  will  not ! You  will  shudder  a little,  per- 
haps ; but  it  is  far  more  likely  that  you  will  scoff  and 
sneer.  It  is  so  easy  to  make  light  of  a fellow-creature’s 
downfall.  Moreover  your  critics  will  assure  you  that  the 
whole  narrative  is  a tissue  of  absurd  improbabilities,  that 
such  and  such  events  never  could  and  never  would  hap- 
pen under  any  sort  of  circumstances  whatever,  and  that  a 
disordered  imagination  alone  has  to  do  with  the  weaving 
of  a drama  as  wild  as  mine  ! 

But,  think  what  you  will,  say  what  you  choose,  I am  re- 
solved you  shall  know  me.  It  is  well  you  should  learn 
what  manner  of  man  is  in  your  midst ; a man  as  pitiless 
as  pestilence, 'as  fierce  as  flame;  one  dangerous  to  himself 
and  still  more  dangerous  to  the  community  at  large  ; and 
yet — remember  this,  I pray  you  !— a man  who  is,  after  all, 
only  one  example  out  of  a thousand  ; a thousand  ? ay, 
more  than  a thousand  like  him,  who  in  this  very  city  are 
possessed  by  the  same  seductive  delirium,  and  are  press- 
ing on  swiftly  to  the  same  predestined  end  ! 

However,  my  concern  is  not  with  others,  but  solely  with 
myself.  I care  little  for  the  fact  that  perhaps  nearly  half 
the  population  of  France  is  with  me  in  my  frenzy  : wh^t 
is  France  to  me  or  I to  France  now  ? Time  was  when  I 
loved  my  country  ; when  I would  have  shed  every  drop  of 
blood  in  my  body  gladly  for  her  defence  ; but  now — now, 
— enfin ! I see  the  folly  of  patriotism,  and  to  speak 
frankly,  I would  rather  drown  like  a dog  in  the  Seine  than 
undergo  the  troublesome  fatigues  of  war.  I was  not  al- 
ways so  indifferent,  I confess ; I came  to  it  by  degrees  as 
others  have  done,  and  as  others  are  doing  who  live  as  I 
live.  I tell  you  there  are  hundreds  of  men  in  Paris  to-day 
who  are  quite  as  apathetic  on  the  subject  of  national 
honor  or  disgrace  as  I am, — who,  thanks  to  the  pale-green 
draught  we  dr'ain  as  in  Our  cafes  night  after  night  with  una- 
bated zest  and  never-satiated  craving,  have  nigh  forgotten 
their  country’s  bitter  defeat, — or  if  they  have  not  forgotten, 


s6 


WORMWOOD . 


have  certainly  ceased  to  care.  True,  they  talk, — we  all 
talk, — of  taking  the  Rhine  and  storming  Berlin,  just  as 
children  babble  of  their  toy  castles  and  tin  soldiers,  but 
we  are  not  in  earnest.  No,  no  ! not  we  ! We  are  wise  in 
our  generation  we  absintheurs ; life  is  so  worthless  that 
we  grudge  making  any  sort  of  exertion  to  prolong  it,  and 
it  is  probable  that  if  the  enemy  were  at  our  very  doors  we 
should  scarcely  stir  a finger  to  repel  attack.  Do  the  Ger- 
mans know  this  I wonder  ? Very  likely  ! and,  knowing  it, 
bide  their  time  ! But  let  them  come.  Why  not  ? One 
authority  is  as  good  as  another,  to  me,  at  any  rate, — for  I 
have  no  prejudices  and  no  principles.  The  whole  wide 
earth  is  the  same  to  me, — a mere  grave  to  bury  nations  in. 

Well ! I have  done  many  strange  things  in  my  day,  and 
what  I choose  to  do  now  is  perhaps  the  strangest  of  all — 
tovwrite  the  history  of  my  life  and  thought ; to  strip  my 
soul  naked,  as  it  were,  to  the  wind  of  the  worlds  con- 
tempt. World’s  contempt ! A bagatelle  ! the  world  can 
have  no  more  contempt  for  me,  than  I have  contempt  for 
the  world  ! 

Dear  people  of  Paris,  you  want  Realism,  do  you  not  ? 
Realism  in  art,  realism  in  literature,  realism  in  everything? 
You  Frenchmen  and  Frenchwomen,  dancing  on  the  edge 
of  your  own  sepulchre — for  the  time  is  coming  fast  when 
France'will  no  more  be  accounted  a nation — you  want  to 
look  at  the  loathsome  worms  and  unsightly  poisonous 
growths  that  attend  your  own  decomposition  and  decay  ? 
You  want  life  denuded  of  all  poetical  adornment  that  you 
may  see  it  as  it  truly  is  ? Well,  so  you  shall,  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned  ! I will  hide  nothing  from  you ! I will 
tear  out  the  very  fibres  of  my  being  and  lay  them  on  your 
modern  dissecting-table  ; nay,  I will  even  assist  you  in 
the  probing-work  of  the  mental  scalpel.  Like  you  1 hate 
all  mysticism  and  sublime  ideal  things  ; we  need ' them  as 
little  or  as  much  as  we  need  God. 

Perhaps  it  is  not  often  that  you  chance  upon  a human 
subject  who  is  entirely  callous  ? A creature  in  whose 
nerves  you  can  thrust  your  steel  hooks  of  inquisitorian 
research  without  his  uttering  so  much  as  a smothered  sob 
of  pain  ? a being  hard  as  flint,  impressionless  as  adamant, 
and  totally  impervious  to  past,  present,  or  future  misery  ? 
Yet  I am  such  an  one  ! perchance  you  may  find  me  a 
strange,  even  an  interesting  study  1 


WORMWOOD 


*7 

Consider  me  well  ! — my  heart  has  turned  to  stone,  my 
brain  to  fire  ; I am  conscious  of  no  emotion  whatever, 
save  an  all-devouring  dreadful  curiosity — curiosity  to 
know  dark  things  forbidden  to  all  but  madmen, — things 
that  society,  afraid  of  its  own  wickedness,  hastily  covers 
up  and  hides  from  the  light  of  day,  feebly  pretending 
they  have  no  existence;  things  that  make  weak  souls 
shudder  and  cry  and  wrestle  with  their  mythical  God  in 
useless  prayer, — these  are  the  things  I love  ; the  things  I 
drag  out  from  the  obscure  corners  and  murky  recesses  of 
life,  and  examine  and  gloat  upon,  till  J have  learnt  from 
them  all  they  can  teach  me.  But  I never  know  enough  ; 
search  as  I may  into  the  minutest  details  of  our  complex 
being,  there  is  always  something  that  escapes  me,  some 
link  that  I lose,  some  clue  that  I fancy  might  explain 
much  that,  seems  incomprehensible.  I suppose  others 
have  missed  this  little  unnameable  something  also,  and 
that  may  be  the  reason  why  they  have  found  it  necessary 
to  invent  a God.  But  enough!  I am  here  to  confess 
myself,  not  as  a conscience-stricken  penitent  confesses  to 
a priest,  but  as  a man  may  confess  himself  to  his  fellow- 
men.  Let  human  nature  judge  me  ! I am  too  proud  to 
make  appeal  to  an  unproven  Divinity.  Already  I have 
passed  judgment  on  myself what  can  you  say  for,  or 
against  me,  O world,  that  will  alter  or  strengthen  my  own 
.self-wrought  condemnation  and  doom  ? I have  lived  fast, 
what  then  ? Is  it  not  the  way  to  die  quickly  i 
2 


tS 


IV  0/V  M W OOUm 


r 


ii. 

It  is  a familiar  business  to  me,  this  taking  up  of  the 
pen  and  writing  down  of  thought.  Long  ago,  when  I was 
quite  a young  man,  I used  to  scribble  feuilletons  and  stray 
articles  for  the  Paris  papers  and  gain  a few  extra  francs 
thereby.  Once,  too,  I wrote  a novel — very  high-flown  in 
style  and  full  of  romantic  sentiment.  It  was  about  a girl 
all  innocence  and  a man  all  nobleness,  who  were  inter- 
rupted in  the  progress  of  their  amours  by  the  usual  sort 
of  villain  so  useful  to  the  authors  of  melodrama.  I saw 
the  book  for  sale  at  a stall  near  the  Palais  Royale  the 
other  day,  and  should  probably  have  bought  it  for  mere 
idle  curiosity’s  sake,  but  that  it  cost  two  francs  and  I 
could  not  spare  the  money.  I stood  and  looked  at  it  in- 
stead, thinking  how  droll  it  was  that  I should  ever  have 
written  it ! And,  little  by  little,  I began  to  remember 
what  I had  been  like  at  that  time — the  portrait  of  myself 
emerged  out  of  the  nebulous  gray  mist  that  always  more 
or  less  obscures  my  vision,  and  I saw  my  face  as  it  had 
appeared  in  youth — clear-complexioned,  dark-eyed,  and 
smiling — such  a face  as  may  be  seen  more  frequently 
in  Provence  or  Southern  Italy  than  in  the  streets 
i of  Paris;  a face  that  many  were  complaisant  enough  to 
call  handsome,  and  that  assuredly  by  none  would  have 
been  deemed  positively  ill-looking.  There  was  a prom-  * 
ising  intelligence  I believe  in  my  physiognomy,  a certain 
deceptive  earnestness  and  animation  that  led  my  over- 
sanguine relatives  and  friends  to  expect  wonders  of  me — 
a few  enthusiasts  expressing  their  Arm  (and  foolish)  con- 
viction that  I should  be  a great  man  some  day.  Great ! 

I ? I laugh  to  think  :t.  I can  see  my  own  features  as 
I write,  in  a tracked  and  blurred  mirror  opposite;  I 
note  iTe  dim  and  sunken  eyes,  the  discolored  skin,  the 
disheveled  hair — a villainous  reflection  truly  ! I might 
be  sixty  from  my  looks — yet  I am  barely  forty.  Hard 


WORMWOOD. 


19 


living?  Well  no — not  what  the  practiced  boulevardier 
would  understand  by  that  term.  I do  not  frequent 
places  of  amusement,  I am  not  the  boon-companion  of 
Dailet-dancers  and  cafe-chanteuses  ; I am  too  poor  for  that 
sort  of  revelry,  inasmuch  as  I can  seldom  afford  to  dine. 
Yet  1 might  have  been  rich,  I might  have  been  respect- 
able, I might  even  have  been  famous — imagine  it ! for  I 
know  I once  had  a few  glimmerings  of  the  swift  lightning 
called  genius  in  me,  and  that  my  thoughts  were  not  pre- 
cisely like  those  of  everyday  men  and  women.  But 
chance  was  against  me,  chance  or  fate ; both  terms  are 
synonymous.  Let  none  talk  to  me  of  opposing  one’s  self 
to  fate  ; that  is  simply  impossible.  Fight  as  we  may  we 
cannot  alter  an  evil  destiny,  or  reverse  a lucky  one. 

Resist  temptation  1 cry  the  preachers.  Very  good  ! but 
suppose  you  cannot  resist  ? Suppose  you  see  no  object 
whatever  in  making  resistance  ? For  example,  point  out 
to  me  if  you  can,  what  use  it  would  be  to  any  one  living 
that  I should  reform  jny  ways  ? Not  a soul  would  care! 
I should  starve  on  just  as  I starve  now,  only  without  any 
sort  of  comfort ; I should  seek  help,  work,  sympathy,  and 
find  none  ; and  I should  perish  in  the  end  just  as  surely 
and  as  friendlessly  as  I shall  perish  now.  We  know  how 
the  honest  poor  are  treated  in  this  best  of  worlds — pushed 
to  the  wall  and  trampled  upon  to  makq  room  for  the 
rich  to  ride  by.  We  also  know  what  the  rnuch-prated-of 
rewards  of  virtue  are  ; the  grudging  thanks  and  reluctant 
praise  of  a few  obscure  individuals  who  make  haste  to 
forget  you  as  soon  as  you  are  dead  ; think  you  that  such 
reward  is  worth  the  trouble  of  .winning?  In  the  oresent 
advanced  condition  of  things  it  is  really  all  one  whether 
we  are  virtuous  or  vicious,  for  who  cares  very  much  about 
morality  in  this  age  ? Morality  has  always  seemed  to  me 
such  an  ambiguous  term.  I asked  my  father  to  define 
it  once,  and  he  answered  me  thus — 

“ Morality  is  a full  and  sensible  recognition  of  the  re- 
sponsibilities of  one’s  being,  and  a steadfast  obedience 
to  the  laws  of  God  and  one’s  country.” 

Exactly  ! but  how  does  this  definition  work,  when  by 
the  merest  chance  you  discover  that  you  have  no  actual 
responsibilities,  and  that 1 it  does  not  matter  in  the  least 
what  becomes  of  you  ? Again,  that  the  laws  of  God  and 
country  are  drawn  up,  after  much  violent  dispute  and 


20 


WORMWOOD. 


petty  wrangling,  by  a few  human  individuals  nearly,  if 
not  quite,  as  capricious  and  unreasonable  as  yourself? 
What  of  morality,  then  ? Does  it  not  resolve  itself  into  a 
myth,  like  the  Creed  the  churches  live  by  ? 

A truce,  I say,  to  such  fair-seeming  hypocritical  show’s 
of  good,  in  a world  which  is  evil  to  its  very  core ! Let  us 
know  ourselves  truly  for  what  we  are,  let  us  not  deceive 
our  minds  with  phantasms  of  what  we  cannot  be.  We 
are  mere  animals — we  shall  never  be  angels — neither 
here  nor  hereafter.  As  for  me,  I have  done  with  ro- 
mances ; love,  friendship,  ambition,  fame  ; in  past  days 
it  is  true  I set  some  store  by  these  airy  cheats — these 
vaporous  visions;  but  now — now  they  count  to  me  as 
naught ; I possess  a dearer  joy,  more  real,  more  lasting 
than  they  all ! 

Would  you  learn  what  thing  it  is  that  holds  me, 
wretched  as  I seem,  to  life  ? what  link  binds  my  frail 
body  and  frailer  soul  together  ? and  why,  with  no  friends 
and  no  fortune,  I still  contrive  to  beat  back  death  as 
long  as  possible  ? Would  you  know  the  single  craving  of 
my  blood — the  craving  that  burns  in  me  more  fiercely 
than  hunger  in  a starving  beast  of  prey — the  one  < desire, 
to  gratify  which,  I would  desperately  dare  and  defy  all 
men  ? Listen,  *then  ! A nectar,  bitter-sweet — like  the 
last  kiss  on  the  lips  of  a discarded  mistress — is  the  secret 
charm  of  my  existence  ; green  as  the  moon’s  light  on  a 
forest  pool  it  glimmers  in  my  glass  ; eagerly  I quaff  it, 
and,  as  I drink,  I dream.-  Not  of  foolish  things.  No  ! 
Not  of  dull  saints  and  smooth  landscapes  in  heaven  and 
wearisome  prudish  maids  ; but  of  glittering  bacchantes, 
nude  nymphs  in  a dance  of  hell,  flashing  torrents  and 
dazzling  mountain-peaks,  of  storm  and  terror,  of  lightning 
and  rain,  of  horses  galloping,  of  flags  flying,  of  armies 
marching,  of  haste  and  uproar  and  confusion  and  death  ! 
Ay  ! even  at  times  I have  .heard  the  trumpets  blare  on. 
the  field  of  battle,  and  the  shout  “ La  revanche!  la  re- 
vanche!”  echoing  wildly  in  lhy  ears,  and  I have  waded 
deep  in  the 'blood  of  our  enemies,  and  wrested  back  from 
their  grasp  Alsace-Lorraine ! . . . 

Ah,  fool  that  I am  ! What ! raving  again  ? I torture 
myself  with  absurd  delusions ; did  I not  but  lately  say  I 
loved  France  no  longer  ? . . . France  ! Do  I not  love 
thee  ? Not  now, — oh,  not  now  let  my  words  be  accepted 


IVORM1VO  OD. 


21 


concerning  thee  ; not  now,  but  later  on,  when  this  heavy 
weight  is  lifted  from  my  heart ; when  this  hot  pulsation 
is  stilled  in  my  brain  ; when  the  bonds  of  living  are  cut 
asunder  and  I wander  released,  a shadow  among  shades  ; 
then,  it  may  be,  I shall  find  tears  to  shed,  tears  of  passion- 
ate tenderness  and  wild  remorse  above  thy  grave,  poor 
France,  thou  beaten  and  discrowned  fair  empress  of 
nations  ; thou  whom  I,  and  others  such  as  I am,  might 
yet  help  to  rescue  and  reinvest  with  glory  if— if  only  we 
could  be  roused — roused  to  swift  action  in  time,  before  it 
is  too  late ! . . . * 

There  ! the  agony  is  over,  and  I am  calm  once  more, 
I do  not  often  yield  to  my  own  fancies  ; I know  their 
power,  how  they  drag  at  me,  and  strive  to  seize  and  pos- 
sess me  with  regrets  for  the  past ; but  they  shall  not  suc- 
ceed. No  wise  man  stops  to  consider  his  by-gone  possi- 
bilities. The  land  of  Might-Have-Been  is,  after  all,  noth- 
ing but  a blurred  prospect,  a sort  of  dim  and  distant  land- 
scape, where  the  dull  clouds  fain  perpetual  tears  i 

Of  Course  the  beginning  of  my  history  is — love.  It  is 
the  beginning  of  every  man  and  every  woman’s  history, 
if  they  are  only  frank  enough  to  admit  it.  Before  that 
period,  life  is  a mere  series  of  smooth  and  small  events, 
monotonously  agreeable  or  disagreeable,  according  to  our 
surroundings ; a time  in  which  we  learn  a few  useful 
things  and  a great  many  useless  ones,  and  are  for  the 
most  part  in  a half-awakened  pleasing  state  of  uncertainty 
and  wonder  about  the  world  in  general.  Love  lights  upon 
us  suddenly  like  a flame,  and  lo  ! we  are  transformed,  we 
are  .for  the  first  time  alive,  and  conscious  of  our  beating 
pulses,  our  warm  and  hurrying  blood  ; we  feel,  we  know  ; 
we  gain  a wisdom  wider  and  sweeter  than  any  to  be  found 
in  books,  and  ^e  climb  step  by  step  up  the  height  of 
ecstasy,  till  we  stand  in  so  lofty  an  attitude  that  we  seem 
to  ourselves  to  dominate  both  earth  and  heaven  ! It  is 
only  a fool’s  paradise  we  stumble  into,  after  all,  but  then, 
everything  is  more  or  less  foolish  in  this  world  ; if  we  wish 
to  avoid  folly  we  must  seek  a different  planet. 

Let  me  think;  where  did  I see  her  first?  At  her 
mother’s  house,  it  must  have  been.  Yes  ! the  picture 
floats  back  to  me  across  a hazy  sea  of  memories,  and  sus- 
pends itself,  mirage-like,  before  my  half-bewildered  gaze. 
She  has  just  returned  to  Paris  from  her  school  at  Lau- 


WORMWOOD. 


sanne  in  Switzerland.  The  Swiss  wild-roses  had  left  their 
delicate  hues  on  her  cheeks,  the  Alpine  blue  gentians  had 
lost  their  little  hearts  in  her  eyes.  She  was  dressed  that 
night  in  quaint  empire  fashion — a simple  garb  of  purest 
white  silk,  with  a broad  sash  drawn  closely  under  the 
bosom — her  rich  curls  of  dark  brown  hair  were  caught  up 
in  high  masses  and  tied  with  a golden  ribbon.  A small 
party  was  being  held  in  honor  of  her  home-coming.  Her 
father,  the  Comte  de  Charmilles,  a stern  old  royalist 
whose  allegiance  to  the  Orleans  family  was  only  equalled 
by  his  fanatical  devotion  to  the  Church,  led  her  through 
the  rooms  leaning  gracefully  on  his  arm,  and  formally  in- 
troduced her,  in  his  stately  old-fashioned  way,  to  all  the 
guests  assembled.  I was.among  the  last  of  these,  yet  not 
the  least,  for  my  father  and  the  Comte  had  been  friends 
from  boyhood,  and  there  was  an  especially  marked  kind- 
ness in  his  voice  and  manner,  when,  pausing  at  my  side, 
he  thus  addressed  me— 

“Monsieur  Beauvais,  permit  me  to  present  to  you  my 
daughter  Pauline.  Pauline,  my  child,  this  is  M.  Gaston 
Beauvais,  the  son  of  our  excellent  friend  M.  Charles  Beau- 
vais, the  banker,  who  has  the  beautiful  house  at  Neuiliy, 
and  who  used  to  give  thee  so  many  viarrons  glaces  when 
thou  wert  a small,  dear,  greedy  baby ; dost  thou  remember  ? 

A charming  smile  parted  her  lovely  lips,  and  she  re- 
turned my  profound  bow  with  the  prettiest  sweeping  curt- 
sey imaginable. 

“ Helas  /”  she  said  playfully,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 
“ I must  confess  that  the  days  of  the  matrons  glaces.  are 
not  yet  past ! I am  a greedy  baby  still,  am  I not,  my  good 
papa?  Can  you  believe  it,  Monsieur  Beauvais,  those 
marrons  glaces  were  the% first  luxuries  I aSked  for  when  I 
came  home  ! they  are  so  good  ! everything  is  so  good  in 
Paris ! My  dear,  beautiful  Paris ! I am  so  glad  to  be 
back  again  ! You  cannot  imagine  how  dull  it  is  at  Lau- 
sanne ! A pretty  place  ? Oh  yes  ! but  so  very  dull ! 
There  are  no  good  bo?i-bo7is , no  delices  of  any  kind,  and 
the  people  are  so  stupid  they  do  not  even  know  how  to 
make  an  eclair  properly!  ah,  How  I used  to  long 
for  tclairs ! I saw  some  one  afternoon  in  a little 
shop-window,  and  went  in  to  try  what  they  were  like;  mon 
Dieu ! they  were  so  very  bad,  they  tasted  of  cheese! 
Yes,  truly  ! so  many  things  in  Switzerland  taste  of  cheese* 


WORMWOOD. 


23 


I think!  Par  exemfife,  have  you  ever  been  to  Vevey? 
No  ? ah  i when  you  do  go  there,  you  will  taste  cheese  in 
the  very  air ! ” 

She  laughed,  and  heaved  a comical  little  sigh  over  the 
one  serious  inconvenience  and  unforgettable  disadvantage 
of  her  past  school-life,  namely,  the  lack  of  delectable 
Zclairs  and  marrons  glaces , while  I,  who  had  been  absorbed 
in  a fascinated  study  of  her  eyes,  her  hair,  her  pretty 
figure,  her  small  hand  that  every  now  and  then  waved  a 
white  fan  to  and  fro  with  a lazy  grace  that  reminded  me 
©f  the  flashing  of  a sea-bird’s  pinion,  thought  to  myself 
what  a mere  child  she  was  for  all  the  dignity  of  her  eight- 
een  years  ; a child  as  innocent  and  fresh  as  a flower  just 
bursting  into  bloom,  with  no  knowledge  of  the  world  into 
which  she  was  entering,  and  with  certainly  no  idea  of  the 
power  of  her  own  beauty  to  rouse  the  passions  of  man.  I 
listened  to  her  soft  and  trifling  chatter  with  far  deeper 
interest  than  I should  probably  have  felt  in  the  conver- 
sation of  the  most  astute  diplomat  or  learned  philosopher, 
and  as  soon  as  I saw  my  opportunity  I made  haste  to 
offer  her  my  arm,  first,  however,  as  in  duty  bound,  glanc- 
ing expressively  at  her  father  for  permission  to  do  so — 
permission  which  he  instantly  and  smilingly  accorded. 
Old  fool ! why  did  he  throw  us  together  ? why  did  he  not 
place  obstacles  in  the  way  of  our  intercourse  ? Because, 
royalist  and  devotee  as  he  was,  he  understood  the  prac- 
tical side  of  life  as  well,  if  not  better  than  any  shrewd 
republican  going  : — he  knew  that  my  father  was  rich,  and 
that  I was  his  only  heir,  and  he  laid  his  plans  accordingly. 
He  was  like  all  French  fathers;  yet  why  should  I specify 
French  fathers  so  particularly  ? English  fathers  are  the 
same ; all  fathers  of  all  nations  nowadays  look  to  the 
practical-utility  advantages  of  marriage  for  their  children 
— and  quite  right  too  ! One  cannot  live  on  air-bubbles  of 
sentiment. 

Pauline  de  Charmilles  was  not  a shy  girl,  but  by  this  I 
do  not  mean  it  to  be  in  the  least  imagined  that  she  was 
bold.  On  the  contrary,  she  had  merely  that  quick  bright- 
ness and  esprit  which  is  the  happy  heritage  of  so  manj 
Frenchwomen,  none  of  whom  think  it  necessary  to 
practise  or  assume  the  chilly  touch-me-not  diffidence  and 
unbecoming  constraint  which  makes  the  young  English 
“ mees ” such  a tame  and  tiresome  companion  to  men  of 


24 


WORMWOOD. 


sense  and  humor.  She  was  soon  perfectly  at  her  ease 
with  me,  and  became  prettily  garrulous  and  confidential, 
telling  me  stories  of  her  life  at  Lausanne,  describing  the 
loveliness  of  the  scenery  on  Lake  Leman,  and  drawing 
word  portraits  of  her  teachers  and  schoolmates,  with  a 
facile  directness  and  point  that  brought  them  at  once  be- 
fore the  mind’s  eye  as  though  they  were  actually  present. 
We  sat  together  for  some  time  on  a window-seat  from 
which  we  could  command  a charming  little  glimpse  of  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  for  M.  de  Charmilles  would  not  live 
far  away  from  this,  his  favorite  promenade  in  all  weathers, 
and  talked  of  many  things,  particularly  of  life  in  Paris, 
and  the  gayeties  that  were  foretold  for  the  approaching 
winter  season.  Reunions,  balls,  receptions,  operas, 
theatres,  all  such  festivities  as  these,  this  ingenuous  wor- 
shipper of  the  “tnarron  glace  ” looked  forward  to  with 
singular  vivacity,  and  it  was  only  after  she  had  babbled 
sweetly  about  fashion  and  society  for  several  minutes  that: 
she  suddenly  turned  upon  me  with  a marvellously  brilliant 
penetrating  glance  of  her  dark  blue  eyes,  a glance  such  as 
I afterwards  found  out  was  common  to  her,  but  which 
then  startled  me  as  much  as  an  unexpected  flash  of  light- 
ning might  have  done,  and  said — 

“ And  you  ? What  a re  you  going  to  do  ? ‘How  do  you; 
amuse  yourself  ?” 

“ Mademoiselle,  I work ! ” 

“ Ah  yes  ! You  are  in  your  father’s  business.” 

“ I am  his  partner.’' 

“You  have  difficult  things  to  think  about?  You  labor 
all  the  day  ? ” 

I laughed — she  looked  so  charmingly  compassionate. 

“ No,  not  all  the  day,  but  for  several  hours  of  it.  We 
are  bankers,  you  know,  and  the  taking  charge  of  other 
people’s  money,  mademoiselle,  is  a very  serious  business  ! ” 
“ Oh,  that  I can  quite  imagine  ! But  you  must  rest 
sometimes, — you  must  visit  your  friends  and  be  gay — is 
it  not  so  ? ” 

“Assuredly.  But  perhaps  I do  not  take  my  rest 
precisely  like  other  people, — I read  a great  deal,  and  I 
write  also,  occasionally.” 

“ Books  ? ” she  exclaimed,  her  lovely  eyes  opening  wide 
with  eager  interest.  “ You  write  books  ? ” 

“ I have  written  one  or  two,”  I admitted  modestly. 


WORMWOOD. 


*5 


« Qh  do  tell  me  the  titles  of  them ! ” she  entreated.  ‘I 
Bha“;tti„«e,est,d  ! , I read  every  story  I c„  ge,  hold 
of,  especially  love-stories,  you  know  ! 1 adore  lo 

stories  i I always  cry  over  them,  and  “ 

Here  our  conversation  was  abruptly  broken 
Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Charmilles  a dignified^/, 
to  dad  in  richest  blade  silk,  with  diamonds  gleaming 
here  and  there  upon  her  handsome  person,  sailed  up  to 
us  from  a remote  corner  of  the  room  where  s e lac 
doubt  been  watching  us  with  the  speculative  observation 
nf  the  match-making  matron,  and  said  # . 

“ Pauline,  mv  child,  the  Marquis  de  Guiscard  desires 
the  honor  of  taking  you  in  to  supper.  Monsieur Beauvais 
will  have  the  amiability  to  escort  your  cousin.  My  niece. 
Mademoiselle  St.  Cyr — Monsieur  Gaston  Beauvais. 
And  thereupon  she  presented  me  to  a pale  serwus-look- 
ing  girl,  who  merely  acknowledged  my  forma,  salute  by 
the  slightest  perceptible  bend  of  her  head,  an  1 

scarcely  glanced  at,  so  great  was  my  chagrin jte .see  the 
fascinating  Pauline  carried  off  on  the  arm  of  DeGuisca  , 
a battered8 beau  of  sixty,  grizzled  as  a bear,  and  wimkle 
a-  old  narc’nment.  I suppose  my  vexation  was  distinctly 
visible  *in  my  face,  for  Madame  de  Charmilles  smiled  a 
little  as  she  saw  me  march  stiffly  past  her  into  t e^“PP®j* 
room  without  condescending  to  say  a wo.d  to  my  pale 
partner  whom  I considered  at  the  moment  positively  ugly 
To  mv  comfort,  however,  I found  Pauline  seated  next  to 
me  at  table,  and  I made  amends  for  my  previous  dtsap- 
pointment  by  conversing  with  her  all  the  tn  , 
complete  vanquishment  and  discomfiture  of  o d De 
Guiscard  Not  that  he  really  cared,  I think,  seeing 
S entirely  absolved  in  eating.  We  talked  of  books 
and  pictures.  I sought  and  obtained  the  permission  to 
send^her  two  of  my  own  literary  productions,  tie  .vo 
which  I myself  judged  as  my  best  efforts ; one  a critical 
study  of  Alfred  de  Musset,  the  other  the  htgh-Aown  senti- 
mental  novel  before  mentioned,  which  at  that  time  had 
only  just  been  published.  I spoke  to  her  of  the . great 
o-eniuses  reigning  in  the  musical  world— of  the  unrivallea 
lamsate,  of  Rubinstein,  of  Verdi,  of  the  child-pianist 
Otto  Hegner ; then,  skimming  down  aom  t.,e  emn' 
of  music  to  the  lower  level  of  the  histrionic  art,  I * 
icribed  to  her  the  various  qualities  of  talent  displaye  y 


26 


/ VORM  iV  O OD. 


the  se\reral  actors  and  actresses  who  were  ranked  among 
the  most  popular  of  the  passing  hour.  And  so  we  chatted 
on,  happily  engrossed  with  one  another,  and  forgetful  of 
all  else.  As  for  the  pale  cousin,  whose  name  I afterwards 
learned  was  Heloise,  I never  gave  her  a second  thought. 
She  sat  on  the  other  side  of  me*  and  that  was  all  I knew 

of  her  then  ; but  afterwards  ! No  matter  ! she  is  dead, 

quite  dead,  and  I only  dream  I see  her  still ! 

The  hours  fled  by  on  golden  wings,  and  before  that 
evening  ended — before  I pressed  her  two  small  white 
hands  in  my  own  at  parting,  I felt  that  I loved  Pauline  de 
Charmilles— loved  her  as  I should  never  love  any  other 
woman.  An  overwhelming  passion  seized  me  ; I was  no 
longer  master  of  my  own  destiny ; Pauline  was  my  fate. 
What  was  her  fascination  ? How  was  it  that  she,  a girl 
fresh  from  school,  a mere  baby  in  thought,  fond  of  bon- 
bons and  foolish  trifles,  should  suddenly  ravish  my  soul 
by  surprise  and  enslave  and  dominate  it  utterly  ? I can- 
not tell ; put  the  question  to  the  physiologists  and  scien- 
tists who  explain  everything,  and  they  will  answer  you. 
She  was  beautiful — that  I can  positively  affirm,  for  I have 
studied  every  detail  of  her  loveliness  as  few  could  have 
done.  And  I suppose  her  beauty  allured  me.  Men 
never  fall  in  love  at  first  with  a woman’s  mind  ; only  with 
her  body.  They  may  learn  to  admire  the  mind  after- 
wards, if  it  prove  worth  admiration,  but  it  is  always  a 
secondary  thing.  This  may  be  called  a rough  truth,  but 
it  is  true  for  all  that.  Who  marries  a woman  of  intellect 
by  choice?  No  one,  and  if  some  unhappy  man  does  it 
by  accident,  he  generally  regrets  it.  A stupid  beauty  is 
the  most  comfortable  sort  of  housekeeper  going,  believe 
me — she  will  be  strict  with  the  children,  scold  the  serv- 
ants, and  make  herself  look  as  ornamental  as  she  can 
till  age  and  fat  render  ornament  superfluous.  But  a 
woman  of  genius,  with  that  strange  subtle  attraction 
about  her  which  is  yet  not  actual  beauty,  she  is  the  per- 
son to  be  avoided  if  you  would  have  peace  ; if  you 
would  escape  reproach  ; if  you  would  elude  the  fixed  and 
melancholy  watchfulness  of  a pair  of  eyes  haunting  you 
in  the  night ! Eyes  such  I see  always — always,  and  shud- 
deringly  wonder  at  ! — eyes  full  of  unsned  tears — will  those 
tears  never  fall  ? — large,  soft,  serious  eyes,  like  those  of 
Pauline’s  pale  cousin  He'liose  ! 


WORM  \ Ojj  . 


V 


III. 

I may  as  well  speak  of  this  woman  Heloise  St.  Cyr, 
before  I go  on  any  further.  I say  this  woman  ; I could 
never  call  her  a girl,  though  she  was  young  enough — only 
twenty.  But  she  was  so  pale  and  quiet,  and  so  concen- 
trated within  the  mystic  circle  of  her  own  thoughts,  that 
she  never  seemed  to  me  like  others  of  her  sex  and  age. 
At  first  I took  a strong  dislike  to  her,  she  had  such  fair 
bright  hair,  and  I hated  golden-haired  women.  I sup- 
pose this  was  because  writers — poets  especially — have 
sung  their  praises,  of  golden  hair  till  the  world  is  wearied, 
^-and  also  because  so  many  females  of  the  demi-monde 
have  dyed  their  coarse  tresses  to  such  hideous  straw- 
tints  in  order  to  be  in  accordance  with  the  prevailing 
fashion  and  sentiment.  However,  the  abundant  locks  of 
Heloise  were,  in  their  way,  of  a matchless  hue,  a singularly 
pale  gold,  brightening  here  and  there  into  flecks  of  red- 
dish auburn  close  to  the  smooth  nape  of  her  neck,  where 
they  grew  in  soft,  small  curls  like  the  delicate  fluff  under 
a young  bird’s  wing.  I often  caught  myself  staring  at 
these  little  warm  rings  of  sun-color  on  the  milky  white- 
ness of  her  skin,  when  she  sat  in  a window-corner  apart 
from  myself  and  Pauline,  reading  some  great  volume  of 
history  or  poetry,  entirely  absorbed,  and  apparently  un- 
conscious of  our  presence.  Her  uncle  told  me  she  was  a 
wonderful  scholar,  that  she  had  numberless  romances  in 
' her  head,  and  all  the  poets  in  her  heart.  I remember  I 
thought  at  the  time  that  he  was  exaggerating  her  gifts  out 
of  , mere  affectionate  complaisance,  for  I never  quite  be- 
lieved in  woman’s  real  aptitude  for  learning.  I could 
quite  understand  a certain  surface-brilliancy  of  attain- 
ment in  the  femalfe  mind,  but  I would  never  admit  that 
such  knowledge  went  deep  enough  to  last.  I was  mis- 
taken, of  course ; since  then  I have  realized  that  a 
woman’ s genius,  if  great  and  ti  ie,  equals,  and  often  sur- 


28 


WORMWOOD. 


passes,  that  of  the  most  gifted  man.  I used,  however,  to 
look  upon  Heloise  St.  Cyr  with  a certain  condescension, 
only  allowing  her,  in  my  opinion,  to  be  about  one  degree 
in  advance  beyond  the  ordinary  feminine  intelligence.  I 
had,  as  I said,  a vague  dislike  to  her,  which  was  not 
lessened  when,  after  reading  my  novel — the  novel  I was 
so  proud  of  having  written — she  smiled  at  the  woes  of  mj 
sentimental  heroine,  and  told  me  very  gently  that  I di4 
not  yet  understand  women.  Not  understand  women! 
I,  a born  and  bred  Parisian  of  five-and-twenty  1 Absurd  ! 
Now  Pauline  “ adored  ” my  book.  She  read  and  re-read 
it  many  times,  and  I gave  her  much  more  credit  for  good 
taste  in  literature,  than  the  pale  woman  student  who  was 
forever  mooning  over  Homer  and  Plato.  I could  not 
understand  Pauline’s  almost  passionate  reverence  for  this 
quiet,  sad-eyed  cousin  of  hers — never  were  two  creatures 
more  utterly  opposed  to  each  other  in  character  and  sen- 
timent. But,  strange  to  say,  love  for  Heloise  seemed  the 
one  really  serious  part  of  Pauline’s  nature,  while  Heloise’s 
affection  for  her,  though  not  so  openly  displayed,  was 
evidently  strong  and  deeply-rooted.  Mademoiselle  St. 
Cyr  was  poor,  so  I understood  ; her  parents  resided  in 
some  obscure  town  in  Normandy,  and  had  hard  work  to 
keep  a decent  roof  above  their  heads,  for  which  reason 
the  Comtesse  de  Charmilles  had  undertaken  the  care  of 
this  eldest  girl  of  her  brother’s  family,  promising  to  do 
her  best  for  her,  and,  if  possible,  to  marry  her  well  But 
Heloise  showed  no  inclination  for  marriage ; she  was  dull 
and  distraite  in  the  company  of  men,  and  seemed  bored 
by  their  conversation  rather  than  pleased.  Nevertheless, 
she  possessed  her  own  fascination  ; what  it  was  I never 
could  see, — not  then — a fascination  sufficient  to  win  the 
devoted  attachment  of  both  her  aunt  and  uncle,  to  whom 
she  became  a positive  necessity  in  the  household.  I soon 
found  out  that  nothing  was  done  without  Heloise  being 
first  consulted, — that  in  any  domestic  difficulty  or  contre- 
temps, everybody  washed  their  hands  of  trouble  and  trans- 
ferred it  to  Heloise  ; that  when  he$  uncle,  to  gratify  his 
extreme  love  of  fresh  air  and  exercise,  cantered  into  tne 
Bois  every  morning  at  six  o’clock,  she  rode  with  him  on  a 
spirited  mare  that  the  very  groom  was  afraid  of  ; that  she 
put  the  finishing  touches  to  her  aunt’s  toilet  and  tied 
the  last  little  decorative  knot  of  ribbon  in  Pauline  s 


WORMWOOD. 


29 


luxuriant  ‘hair,  and  that  she  was  generally  useful  to  every 
one.  This  fact  of  itself  made  me  consider  her  with  a sort 
of  faint  contempt ; practical-utility  persons  were  never  at- 
tractive to  me,  though  I reluctantly  owned  the  advisability 
of  their  existence.  And  then  I never  half  believed  what  I 
heard  about  her ; her  talents  and  virtues  seemed  to  me  to 
be  always  overrated.  I never  saw  her  occupied  other- 
wise than  with  a book.  She  was  forever  reading, — she 
was,  I decided,  going  to  develop  herself  into  a “femme 
savante,  ” a character  I detested.  So  I paid  her  very 
little  attention,  and  when  I did  speak  to  her  on  any  sub- 
ject it  was  always  with  that  particularly  condescending 
carelessness  which  a wise  man  of  five-and-twenty  who  has 
written  books  may  bestow  on  a vastly  inferior  type  of 
humanity. 

In  a very  short  time  I became  a frequent  and  inti- 
mate visitor  at  the  house  of  the  De  Charmilles,  and 
my  intentions  there  were  pretty  well  guessed  by  all 
the  members  of  the  family.  Nothing  to  the  purport 
of  marriage,  however,  had  yet  been  said.  I had  not 
even  dared  to  whisper  to  Pauline  my  growing  love  for 
her.  I was  aware  of  her  father’s  old-fashioned  sentiments 
on  etiquette,  and  knew  that,  in  strict  accordance  with  what 
he  deemed  honor,  I was  bound,  before  paying  any  serious 
addresses  to  his  daughter,  to  go  through  the  formality 
of  asking  his  permission.  But  I was  in  no  hurry  to  do 
this  ; it  was  a sufficient  delight  to  me  for  the  present  to  see 
my  heart’s  enchantress  occasionally,  to  bring  her  flowers 
or  bon-bons,  to  hear  her  sing  and  play — for  she  was  a 
graceful  proficient  in  music — and  to  make  one  of  the  fam- 
ily party  at  supper,  and  argue  politics  good-humoredly  with 
the  old  Royalist  Count,  whose  contempt  for  the  Republic 
was  beyond  all  bounds,  and  who  was  anxious  to  convert 
me  to  his  way  of  thinking.  Often  on  these  occasions  my 
father,  an  excellent  man,  though  apt  to  be  rather  prosy 
when  he  yielded  to  his  weakness  for  telling  anecdotes, 
:would  join  us,  bringing  with  him  one  of  his  special  friends 
the  little  fat  Cure  of  our  parish,  whose  bo?i-mots  were  pro- 
verbial ; and  many  a pleasant  evening  we  passed  all  to- 
gether, seated  round  the  large  table  in  the  oak-panelled 
dining-room,  from  whose  walls  the  stiffly  painted  portraits 
of  the  ancestral  De  Charmilles  seemed  to  frown  or  smile 
upon  us,  according  to  the  way  in  which  the  lamp-light 


3° 


WORMWOOD : 


flickered  or  fell.  And  as  the  days  flew  on  and  November 
began  to  rustle  by  in  a shroud  of  dead  autumn  leaves,  it 
seemed  to  my  adoring  eyes  that  Pauline  grew  lovelier  than 
ever.  Her  gayety  increased  ; she  invested  herself  with  a 
thousand  new  fascinations,  a thousand  fresh  coquetries. 
Every  dress  she  wore  appeared  to  become  her  more  per- 
fectly than  the  last.  She  fluttered  here  and  there  like  a 
beautiful  butterfly  in  a garden  of  roses,  and  I,  who  had 
loved  her  half-timidly  before,  now  grew  mad  for  her ! mad 
with  a passion  of  longing  that  I could  hardly  restrain — a 
passion  that  consumed  me  hotly  like  a fever  and  would 
scarcely  let  me  sleep.  Whenever  I fell,  out  of  the  sheer 
exhaustion  of  my  thoughts,  into  a restless  slumber,  I saw 
her  in  my  dreams — a flitting,  dancing  sylph  on  rainbow- 
colored  clouds — her  voice  rang  in  my  ears,  her  arms 
would  wave  and  beckon  me  ; — “ Pauline  ! Pauline  I ” I 
would  cry  aloud,  and,  starting  from  my  pillow,  I would 
rise  and  pace  rny  room  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro,  like  a chaf- 
ing prisoner  in  a cell  till  morning  dawned.  During  all 
this  self-torment  which  I half  enjoyed,  it  being  a more  de- 
licious than  painful  experience,  I might  have  spoken  to 
the  Comte  de  Charmilles  ; but  I refrained,  determining  to 
wait  till  after  the  feast  of  Noel.  I was  sure  of  his  consent. 
I felt  convinced  that  he  and  my  father  had  already  spoken 
together  on  the  subject,  and  as  for  Pauline  herself — 
ah  ! if  looks  had  eloquence,  if  the  secret  pressure  of  a 
hand,  the  sudden  smile,  the  quick  blush,  meant  anything 
at  all,  then  surely  she  loved  me!  There  were  no  ob- 
stacles in  the  way  of  our  union,  and  it  was  impossible  to  in- 
vent any ; all  was  smooth  sailing,  fair  skies  above,  calm 
seas  below  ; and  we,  out  of  all  the  people  in  the  world, 
should  probably  be  the  happiest  living.  So  I thought,  and 
I made  many  pleasant  plans,  never  considering  for  a mo- 
ment how  foolish  it  is  to  make  plans  beforehand  for  any- 
thing *,  but,  remember,  I was  very  young,  and  Hdloise  St. 
Cyr  was  quite  right  when  she  said  I did  not  yet  under- 
stand women. 

We  lived  alone,  my  father  and  I,  at  Neuilly,  in  a large 
old  quaint  mansion,  part  of  which  had  been  standing  at 
the  time  of  the  famous  Reign  of  Terror.  The  rooms  were 
full  of  antique  furniture,  such  as  would  have  been  the  joy 
of  connoisseurs,  and  everything,  even  to  the  smallest 
trifle,- was  kept  in  the  exact  order  in  which  my  mother  had 


WOKMWOOD. 


3l 


left  it  seventeen  years  previously,  when  she  died  giving 
birth  to  a girl-child  who  survived  her  but  a few  hours. 
One  of  the  earliest  impressions  of  my  life  is  that  of  the 
hush  of  death  in  the  house,  the  soft  stepping  to  and  fro 
of  the  servants,  the  drawn  blinds,  the  smell  of  incense  and 
burning  candles ; and  I remember  how,  with  a beating 
heart,  I,  as  a little  fellow,  stopped  outside  the  door  of  the 
closed  room  and  whispered,  “ Maman  ! petite  maman  /” 
in  a voice  rendered  so  weak  by  fright  that  I myself  could 
scarcely  hear  it.  And  then,  how,  on  a sudden  impulse,  I 
entered  the  mysteriously  darkened  chamber,  and  saw  a 
strange  white  beautiful  figure  lying  on  the  bed  with  lilies 
in  its  hair  ; a figure  that  held  encircled  in  one  arm  a tiny 
waxen  creature  that  looked  as  pretty  and  gentle  as  the  lit- 
tle Jesus  in  the  church  creche  at  Christmas-time,  and  how, 
after  staring  at  this  sight  bewildered  for  a minute’s  space, 
I became  aware  of  my  father  kneeling  at  the  bedside,  his 
strong  frame  shaken  with  such  convulsive  sobs  as  were 
terrible  to  hear,  so  terrible,  that  I,  breaking  into  a child- 
ish wailing,  fled  to  his  arms  for  shelter,  and  stayed  there 
shuddering,  clasped  to  his  heart  and  feeling  his  hot  tears 
raining  on  my  hair.  That  was  a long,  long  whi4e  ago  ! It 
is  odd  that  I should  recollect  every  detail  of  that  scene  so 
well  at  this  distance  of  time  ! 

I have  said  that  my  father  had  a special  friend  with 
whom  he  loved  to  talk  and  argue  on  all  the  political  and 
philosphical  questions  that  came  up  for  discussion, 
namely,  Monsieur  Vaudron,  the  Cure  of  our  parish.  He 
was  a good  man — perfectly  unaffected,  simple-hearted, 
and  honest.  Imagine,  an  honest  priest ! It  is  a sufficient 
rarity  in  France.  He  was  in  earnest,  too.  He  believed 
in  Our  Lady  and  his  patron  saint  with  unflinching  fervor 
and  tenacity.  It  was  no  use  bringing  the  heavy  batteries 
of  advanced  science  to  storm  his  little  citadel.  He  stood 
firm. 

“ Talk  as  you  will/*  he  would  say,  “ there  is  always 
something  left  that  you  cannot  understand.  No  ! neither 
you  nor  M.  Rdnan,  nor  any  other  overwise  theorist  liv- 
ing, and  for  me  that  Something  is  Everything.  When 
you  can  explain  away  that  little  inexplicable — why  then, 
•who  knows  ! — I may  go  as  far  and  even  further  than  any 
heretic  of  the  age  ” — here  he  would  smile  and  rub  his 
hands  complacently — u but  till  then ” An  expressive 


3* 


V 


WORMWOOD. 


gesture  would  complete  the  sentence,  and  both  my  father^ 
and  I liked  and  respected  him  too  well  to  carry  on  any 
ultra-positive  views  on  religion  in  his  presence. 

One  evening  late  in  November,  M.  Vaudron  called 
upon  us,  as  it  was  often  his  custom  to  do,  after  supper, 
with  an  expression  of  countenance  that  betokened  some 
vexation  and  anxiety. 

“ To  speak  truly,  I am  worried,”  he  said  at  last,  in  an- 
swer to  my  father’s  repeated  inquiries  as  to  whether  any- 
thing was  wrong  with  him.  “ And  I am  full  of  uncom- 
fortable doubts  and  presentiments.  I am  to  have  an  un- 
expected addition  to  my  poor  household  in  the  person  of 
my  nephew,  who  is  studying  to  be  a priest.  You  never 
heard  of  my  nephew  ? No.  I never  thought  I should 
have  occasion  to  speak  of  him.  He  is  the  only  son  of 
my  only  sister,  who  married  a respectable,  somewhat 
wealthy  farmer  possessing  house  and  lands  in  Brittany. 
They  settled  in  that  province,  and  have  never  left  it ; and 
this  boy — I suppose  he  must  be  about  twenty-two — has 
seen  no  other  city  larger  than  the  town  of  Rennes,  where 
he  began  and  has  since  carried  on  his  studies.  Now,  his 
parents  wish  him  to  see  Paris,  and  continue  his  probation 
with  me ; this  is  all  very  well,  but  you  know  how  I live, 
and  you  can  imagine  how  my  old  Margot  will  look  upon 
such  an  unexpected  invasion  ! ” 

We  smiled.  Margot  was  the  good  Cure’s  cook,  house- 
keeper, and  domestic  tyrant ; a withered  little  woman, 
something  like  a dried  apple,  one  of  those  apples  that  you 
have  to  cut  into  pretty  deeply  before  you  find  the  sweet- 
ness that  lurks  at  its  core.  She  had  a sharp  tongue,  too, 
had  Margot,  and  however  much  the  Curd  might  believe 
in  his  priestly  power  to  exorcise  the  devil,  it  was  certain 
he  could  never  exorcise  his  old  cook’s  love  of  scolding 
out  of  her.  He  was  ludicrously  afraid  of  her  wrath,  and 
he  surveyed  us  now  as  he  spoke  with  a most  whimsical 
air  of  timidity  and  supplication. 

“ You  see,  tnon  ami  ,”  he  continued,  addressing  my. 
father  who,  smoking  comfortably,  glanced  at  him  with  a! 
keen  yet  friendly  amusement,  “this  nephew,  whom  I do 
not  know,  may  be  troublesome.” 

“ Assuredly  he  may  ! ” agreed  my  father  solemnly,  yet 
with  a twinkle  in  his  eye.  “ Young  men  are  proverbially 
""cult  to  manage.” 


I 

WORMIVOO&.  33 

ic  They  are — they  are  ! I am  sure  of  that ! ” and  the 
Curd  shook  his  head  in  a desponding  manner.  “ But 
still  I cannot  refuse  the  request  of  my  only  sister,  the 
first  request  she  has  ever  made  of  me  since  her  marriage  ! 
Besides,  if  I would  refuse,  it  is  too  late,  the  boy  is  on  his 
way — he  will  be  here  to-morrow,  and  I must  break  the 
news  somehow  to  Margot,  it  will  be  difficult — mon  Dieu  / 
it  will  be  very  difficult— but  it  must  be  done  ! ” 

And  he  heaved  such  a profound  sigh,  that  I,  who  had 
been  glancing  up  and  down  the  flimsy  columns  of  the 
66  Petit  Journal,5’  to  avoid  interrupting  the  conversation 
of  my  elders,  suddenly  gave  way  to  irresistible  laughter. 
My  merriment  was  contagious  ; the  picture  of  M.  Vau- 
dron  trembling  like  an  aspen-leaf  before  the  little  waspish 
Margot  and  faltering  forth  the  news  that  henceforth,  for  a 
time  at  least,  she  would  have  to  wait  upon  two  men  in- 
stead of # one,  and  proffering  his  mild  apologies  for  the 
same,  struck  us  all  with  an  overwhelming  sense  of  the 
ridiculous,  even  the  Cure  himself,  whose  laughter  was  as 
loud  and  long  as  my  father’s  or  mine. 

“ Ah  well  1 55  he  said  at  last,  wiping  away  the  drops  of 
mirth  from  his  eyes.  “ I know  I am  an  old  fool,  and 
that  I allow  Margot  to  have  her  own  way  a little  too 
much — but  then  she  is  a good  soul,  a very  good  soul! 
and  truly  she  takes  care  of  me  as  I never  could  take  care 
of  myself.  And  how  well  she  washes  the  church  linen  ! 
Could  anything  be  more  spotlessly  white  and  fit  for  holy 
service  ! She  is  an  excellent  woman — I assure  you,  ex- 
cellent ! but  regarding  this  nephew 55 

“ Ah,  that  is  a serious  question  ! 55  murmured  my  father, 
who  seemed  mischievously  determined  not  to  help  him 
out  with  any  solution  of  his  difficulty.  “ He  is  coming, 
you  say,  to-morrow  ? 55 

“ He  is — he  is,  without  a doubt ! 55  replied  poor  M. 
Vaudron,  with  another  forlorn  shake  of  his  head.  “ And 
as  he  will  probably  arrive  before  noon,  there  is  very  little 
time  to  prepare  Margot  for  his  arrival.  You  see  I would 
not  wish  to  blame  my  good  sister  for  the  world,  but  I 
think — I think  she  has  been  a little  hasty  in  this  matter  ; 
she  has  given  me  no  chance  of  refusal,  not  that  I could 
have  refused  her ; but  I might  have  arranged  better,  had 
more  time  been  given  me.  However,  I suppose  I must 
do  my  utmost  for  the  boy.55 


34 


WORMWOOD . 


Here  he  broke  off  and  rubbed  his  nose  perplexedly. 

“ What  is  he  like,  this  nephew  of  yours  ? ” I put  in 
suddenly.  “ Have  you  any  idea  ? ” 

“Truly,  not  much,”  he  replied  thoughtfully,  ^ I never 
saw  him  but  once,  and  then  he  was  only  thre.e  years  old, 
a fine  child,  if  I remember  rightly.  If  one  is  to  believe 
in  his  mother’s  description  of  him  (but  that,  of  course, 
cannot  be  done)  he  is  an  intellectual  marvel,  a positive 
prodigy  of  good  looks  and  wisdom  combined  ; there  nevei 
was  such  a youth  born  into  this  planet  before,  according 
to  her  account,  poor  dear  soul ! Ah  ! good  mothers  are 
all  alike  ; God  has  made  their  hearts  the  tenderest  in  the 
world ! ” 

My  father  sighed  a little.  I knew  he  was  thinking  of 
the  dead  ; of  his  fair  lost  love,  with  whom  had  perished 
all  mother’s  tenderness  for  me,  at  any  rate.  He  rose, 
knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  and  put  it  by, ‘then 
looked  round  with  a smile  at  the  still  perplexed  and  mus- 
ing Cure. 

“Come,  mon  cher /”  he  said  cheerfully,  “I  know  what 
you  want  as  well  as  possible ! You  want  me  to  go 
around  with  you  and  help  smooth  this  affair  over  with 
your  old  Margot.  Is  it  not  so  ? Speak  truly  1 ” 

“Ah,  mon  ami!”  cried  poor  M.  Vaudron,  rising  from 
his  chair  in  an  ecstasy.  “ If  you  would  but  do  me  this 
favor  ! She  will  listen  to  you  ! she  has  the,  profoundest 
admiration  for  you,  and  she  will  understand  reason  from 
your  lips  ! You  really  will  accompany  me  ? ah,  what  it  is 
to  have  so  excellent  a friend  ! I shall  owe  you  a thou- 
sand obligations  for  this  kindness!  there  will  no  longer  be 
any  difficulty,  and  I shall  be  once  more  at  ease  ! But 
you  are  sure  it  is  no  trouble  ? ” 

While  he  thus  spoke,  my  father  had  stepped  into  the 
hall  and  put  on  his  coat  and  hat,  and  he  now. stood 
equipped  for  walking,  his  stalwart  form  and  refined, 
rather  melancholy  face,  offering  a great  contrast  to  the 
round  dumpy  figure  and  plump  clean-shaven  countenance 
of  the  good  little  Cur6. 

“ AUons  ! ” he  said  mirthfully.  “ We  will  start  before 
it  grows  any  later,  and  take  Madame  Margot  by  surprise. 
She  is  in  love  with  me,  that  old  Margot  of  thine ! I warn 
thee,  Vaudron,  that  she  has  designs  upon  me  ! She  will 
need  one  of  thy  exordiums  after  mass  next  Sunday ; for  £ 


WORMWOOD. 


35 


will  so  confuse  her  with  compliments  on  her  house-man- 
agement, and  on  the  excellent  way  in  which  she  will  cer- 
tainly purpose  attending  to  thy  nephew,  that  she  will  al- 
most believe  herself  to  be  young  and  marriageable*  once 
more  ! ” 

He  laughed  ; so  did  the  Curd,  and  they  prepared  to 
leave  the  house  together.  I accompanied  them  to  the 
street-door,  and  on  the  threshold  my  father  turned  round 
to  me,  saying — 

“ Amuse  thyself  well,  Gaston  ! Art  thou  going  to  see 
the  pretty  Pauline  this  evening  ? ” 

The  hot  color  surged  to  my  brows  ; but  I made  a pre- 
sence of  indifference,  and  answered  in  the  negative. 

“ Ah  well ! One  night  more  or  less  in  the  week  will 
not  make  much  difference  to  thy  feelings,  or  to  hers. 
See,  what  a bright  moon  ! Thou  canst  play  Romeo  with 
real  scenery  ; is  there  no  balcony  to  thy  Juliet’s  win- 
dow ? ” 

And  with  this  sort  of  badinage , mingled  with  laughter, 
the  two  elderly  gentlemen  descended  the  steps,  and  cross- 
ing the  road  arm-in-arm  were  soon  lost  to  sight  in  an  op- 
posite avenue  of  trees.  I stayed  a minute  or  two  at  the 
open  door,  looking  after  them,  and  puffing  slowly  at  my 
half-finished  cigarette.  They  knew— they  guessed,  my 
love  for  Pauline  ; it  was  probable  every  one  knew  or 
guessed  it.  I might  as  well  speak  openly,  and  at  once  to 
the  Comte  de  Charmilles ; why  not  to-morrow  ? Yes, 
to-morrow  ! I resolved  I would  do  so.  And  to-morrow 
then,  ah,  God  ! — I should  be*  free  to  clasp  my  darling  in 
my  arms  unreproved,  to  tell  her  how  I had  thought  of  her 
every  minute  of  the  day  and  night;  how  I adored  her; 
how  I worshipped  her ; I should  be  allowed  to  kiss  those 
soft  sweet  lips,  and  touch  those  lovely  curls  of  loose 
brown  hair  ! she  would  be  mine,  betrothed  to  me  ! The 
very  thought  made  me  tremble  with  my  own  eagerness, 
and  ecstasy,  and,  to  calm  myself,  I went  abruptly  indoors, 
and  began  to  busy  my  brain  with  certain  financial  cal- 
culations and  reports  which  demanded  the  closest  atten- 
tion. And  while  I was  thus  engaged,  softly  whistling  a 
tune  as  I worked  for  pure  lightness  of  heart,  the  moon 
soared  high  up  like  a great  beacon, .flooding  the  room  in 
which  I sat  with  strange  ghostly  beams  of  silvef  and 
green,  one  green  ray  falling  right  across  the  paper  on 


WORMWOOD. 


36 

which  I was  scribbling,  and  shining  with  such  a con- 
spicuous brilliancy  that  it  almost  dimmed  the  brightness 
of  the  lit  lamp  over  my  head.  I stopped  writing  to  look 
at  it,  it  flickered  with  a liquid  pale  radiance  like  the 
lustre  of  an  emerald,  or  the  color  of  absinthe.  It  moved 
away  after  a while,  and  I went  on  with  my  work.  But 
I well  remember  the  weird,  almost  spectral  loveliness 
of  the  skies  that  night,  the  weather  was  so  calm  and 
frostily  clear.  When  my  father  came  back  in  about  an 
hour’s  time,  after  having  been  triumphantly  successful  as 
intermediator  between  the  Cure  and  his  old  Margot,  ha 
remarked  to  me,  as  we  went  upstairs  to  our  bedrooms — 

44  The  unexpected  nephew  of  M.  Vaudron  will  have 
fine  weather  for  his  journey  ! ” 

“ Excellent  ! ” I agreed,  stifling  a yawn,  for  I was 
rather  sleepy.  “ By  the  way,  what  is  the  unexpected 
nephew’s  name  ? ” 

44  Silvion  Guidel.” 

I stbpped  on  the  stairs. 

44  Silvion  Guidel  ! A strange  name,  surely?” 

44  It'sounds  strange,  yes  ! but  4 Guidel’  is  an  old  Brittany 
name,  so  Vaudron  tells  me  ; 4 Silvion  ’ is  certainly  not  so 
common  as  4 Sylvain,’  yet  they  are  very  nearly  alike.” 

44  True  ! ” and  I said  no  more.  But  I thought  several 
times,  at  odd  waking  moments  during  the  night,  of  that 
name — Silvion  Guidel — and  wondered  what  sort  of  being 
he  was  that  bore  it.  He  was  studying  to  be  a priest,  so  it 
was  not  likely  that  / should  see  much  of  him.  However, 
a curious  sense  of  irritation  grew  up  in  me  that  this  fellow 
from  Brittany  should  be  coming  to  Paris  at  all.  I disliked 
him  already,  even  while  admitting  to  myself  that  such  a 
dislike  was  altogether  foolish  and  unreasonable.  And  the 
name,  44  Silvion  Guidel  ” haunted  me  then,  even  as  it 
haunts  me  now  ; only  then  it  suggested  nothing,  save  a 
faint  inexplicable  sense  of  aversion  ; but  now  l — now  it  is 
•written  before  me  in  letters  of  fire  ! it  stares  at  me  from 
every  clear  blank  space  of  wall  ; it  writes  itself  beneath 
my  feet  on  the  ground,  and  above  me  in  the  heavens  ; I 
never  lose  the  accursed  sight  of  it ! I never  shali ! never, 
never  ! until  I die  ! 


WORMWOOD. 


IV. 

The  next  day  I carried  out  my  previous  night’s  resolu- 
tion to  ask  the  Comte  de  Charmilles  for  his  daughter’s 
hand  in  marriage.  As  I expected,  I was  met  with  entire 
favor,  and  when  I left  the  old  aristocrat’s  library,  after 
about  an  hour’s  satisfactory  conversation,  I had  his  full 
parental  permission  to  go  straightway  to  Pauline  and  tell 
her  of  my  passion.  How  my  heart  beat,  how  my  pulses 
galloped,  as  I stepped  swiftly  along  the  corridor  in  search 
of  my  soul’s  idol  ! She  usually  sat  with  her  cousin  in  a 
small  boudoir  fronting  on  the  garden  ; and  she  was  gen- 
erally at  home  at  this  early  hour  of  the  afternoon  ; but  for 
once  I could  not  find  her.  Where  was  she,  I wondered? 
Perhaps  in  the  large  drawing-room,  though  she  seldom 
went  there,  that  apartment  being  only  used  occasionally 
for  the  reception  of  visitors.  However  I turned  in  that 
direction,  and  was  just  crossing  the  passage,  when  I was 
brought  to  an  abrupt  standstill  by  the  sound  of  music, 
such  music  as  might  have  been  played  by  Orpheus  to 
charm  his  lost  bride  out  of  hell.  I listened  amazed  and 
entranced ; it  was  a violin  that  discoursed  such  wild 
melody ; some  one  was  playing  it  with  so  much  7 'erve  and 
fire  and  feeling,  that  it  seemed  as  though  every  throbbing 
note  were  a burning  thing  alive,  with  wings  to  carry  it  to 
and  fro  in  the  air  forever.  I pushed  open  the  door  of  the 
drawing-room  suddenly,  and  stared  at  its  solitary  inmate 
dumfoundered ; why,  it  was  that  pale  and  quiet  Heloise 
St.  Cyr  who  stood  there,  her  bow  lifted,  her  features  alit 
with  enthusiasm,  her  bright  hair  ruffled,  and  her  large 
eyes  ablaze  ! What  a face  ! what  an  attitude  ! she  was 
actually  beautiful,  this  woman,  and  I had  never  perceived 
it  before  ! When  she  saw  me  she  started  ; then,  in  a 
moment,  regained  her  self-possession,  laid  down  her  bow, 
and,  still  holding  the  violin,  advanced  a little. 

You  want  Pauline  ? ”,  she  asked,  slightly  smiling^. 


IP  va’J/  PI'  OuD~ 


“ She  will  be  down  directly.  She  is  upstairs  changing  her 
dress,  she  and  my  aunt  have  just  returned  from  a drive  in 
the  Bois — they  found  it  very  cold.” 

I looked  at  her,  feeling  stupid  and  tongue-tied.  I 
wanted  to  say  something  about  her  marvellous  playing, 
but  at  the  moment  could  find  no  words.  Her  eyes  met 
mine  steadily,  the  faint  smile  still  lurking  in  their  clear 
depths,  and  after  a brief  pause  she  spoke  again. 

“ I was  practising  ! ” And  placing  the  violin  against 
her  slim  white  throat,  she  ran  her  fingers  dumbly  up  and 
down  the  strings.  “ I seldom  have  the  chance  of  a couple 
of  hours  all  to  myself,  but  this  afternoon  I managed  to 
escape  from  the  drive.  My  aunt  went  to  call  at  the  house 
of  M.  Vaudron,  in  order  to  leave  her  card  for  his  nephew, 
who  has  just  arrived.” 

I was  considerably  surprised  at  this,  and  very  quickly 
found  voice  to  remonstrate. 

“ Surely  Madame  la  Comtesse  has  been  almost  too 
courteous  in  this  regard  ? ” I said.  “ The  young  man  is 
a*  perfect  stranger,  the  mere  son  of  a farmer  in  Brit- 
tany  ” 

“Pardon!”  interrupted  Heloise.  “He  is  already 
highly  distinguished  for  learning  and  scholarship,  and  a 
special  letter  of  introduction  and  recommendation  con- 
cerning him  came  by  last  night’s  post  for  my  uncle  from 
the-  Prior  of  St.  Xavier’s  monastery  at  Rennes.  The  Prior 
is  one  of  my  uncle’s  dearest  and  oldest  friends,  thus,  you 
see,  it  is  quite  en  regie  that  this  Monsieur  Guidel  should  re- 
ceive his  first  welcome  from  the  house  of  De  Charmilles.” 

Again  she  ran  her  delicate  fingers  up  and  down  the 
strings  of  her  violin,  and  again  that  unreasonable  sense 
of  irritation  which  had  possessed  me  during  the  past 
night  possessed  me  now.  All  things  seemed  to  conspire 
together  to  make  this  Breton  fellow  actually  one  of  our 
intimate  circle ! 

“ Will  Mademoiselle  Pauline  be  long,  do  you  think  ? ” 
I asked  rather  crossly.  “ I am  anxious  to  see  her ; I 
have  her  father’s  permission  to  speak  to  her  in  private.” 

What  a curious  change  passed  over  her  face  as  I said 
these  words ! She  evidently  guessed  my  errand,  apd 
there  was  something  in  her  expression  that  was  per- 
plexing and  difficult  to  decipher.  She  looked  startled, 
sorry,  vaguely  troubled,  and  I wondered  why.  Presently* 


WORMWOOD . 


39 

laying  down  her  violin,  she  came  towards  me  and  touched 
my  arm  gently,  almost  pleadingly. 

“ Do  not  be  in  a hurry,  Monsieur  Beauvais  ! ” she  said 
very  earnestly.  “ I think — indeed  I am  sure — I know 
what  you  are  going  to  say  to  Pauline  ! But,  give  her 
time  to  think — plenty  of  time  ! she  is  so  very  young,  she 
scarcely  knows  her  own  mind.  Oh,  do  not  be  angry  with 
me,  indeed  I speak  for  the  best!  I have  lived  with  my 
cousin  so  long, — fn  truth,  I have  seldom  been  away  from 
her,  except  when  she  went  to  her  finishing  school  in 
Switzerland  three  years  ago ; but  before  that  we  were 
both  educated  at  the  Convent  of  the  Sacre  Cceur  to- 
gether. I know  her  nature  thoroughly  ! She  is  sweet, 
she  is  good,  she  is  a little  angel  of  beauty  ; but  she  does 
not  understand  what  love  is,  she  cannot  even  translate 
the  passing  emotions  of  her  own  heart.  You  must  be 
very  patient  with  her ! give  her  time  to  be  quite  sure  of 
herself,  for  now  she  is  not  sure,  she  cannot  be  sure  ! ” 

Her  voice  thrilled  with  quite  a plaintive  cadence,  and 
her  strange  eyes,  which  I now  noticed  were  a sort  of 
gray-green  color  like  the  tint  of  the  sea  before  a storm, 
filled  with  tears.  But  I was  extremely  angry ; angry  with 
her  for  speaking  to  me  at  all  on  the  subject  of  my  amour; 
it  was  none  of  her  business!  She  had  her  doubts,  this 
pale,  serious,  cold  woman  as  to  the  possibility  of  Pau- 
line’s having  any  real  love  for  me,  that  was  evident. 
Well,  she  should  find  out  her  mistake  ! She  should 
soon  see  how  fondly  and  truly  my  darling  returned  my 
passion  ! 

“ Mademoiselle,”  I said  frigidly,  “ you  are  exceedingly 
good  to  concern  yourself  so  deeply  with  the  question  of 
your  cousin’s  happiness!  I am  grateful  to  you,  Dassure 
you,  as  grateful  perhaps  as  even  she  herself  can  be  ; but 
at  present  I think  the  matter  is  best  left  in  my  hands. 
You  may  be  quite  certain  that  I shall  urge  nothing  upon 
Mademoiselle  de  Charmilles  that  will  be  in  any  way  dis- 
tressing to  her,  my  sole  desire  being  to  make  her  life,  so 
far  as  I am  able,  one  of  perfect  felicity.  As  for  the  com- 
prehension of  love,  I think  that  comes  instinctively  to  all 
women  of  marriageable  age.  Surely  you  yourself  ” — and 
I spoke  in  a more  bantering  tone — “ cannot  be  ignorant 
of  its  meaning  ! If  yqu  loved  any  one,  you  would  not 
require  much  time  to  think  about  it  ? ” 


40 


WORMWOOD 


“Yes,  indeed  I should  ! ” she  replied  slowly.  " I 
should  need  time  to  commune  with  my  own  heart,  to  ask 
it  if  all  this  panting  passion,  this  restless  fever,  would 
last  l Whether  it  were  but  a fancy  of  the  moment,  a 
dream  of  the  hour,  or  the  never-to-be-quenched  fire  of 
love  indeed — love  in  its  perfect  strength  and  change- 
less fidelity — love  absolutely  unselfish,  pure,  and  death- 
less ? I should  need  time  to  know  myself  and  my  lover, 
and  to  feel  that  our  two  spirits  merged  into  one  as 
harmoniously  as  the  two  notes  in  this  perfect  chord  ! ” 

And  taking  up  her  violin,  she  drew  the  bow  across  the 
strings.  A sweet  and  solemn  sound,  organ-like  in  tone, 
floated  through  the  room  with  such  a penetrating  ricS- 
ness  that  the  very  air  seemed  to  pulsa  tearound  me  in  fahu 
yet  soothing  echoes.  What  a strange  creature  she  was, 
I thought]  and  a quick  sigh  escaped  my  lips  uncon- 
sciously. 

“ I did  not  know  you  played  the  violin,  Mademoiselle, 99 
I began  hastily,  and  with  a touch  of  embarrassment. 

“ Vraiment!”  and  she  smiled.  “But  that  is  not  sur- 
prising ! You  do  not  know,  and  it  is  probable  you  never 
will  know  anything  at  all  about  me  ! I am  a very  un- 
interesting person  ; it  is  not  worth  any  one’s  while  to 
study  me.  Listen  ! ” — and  she  held  up  her  finger  as  a 
clear  voice  rang  through  the  house  carolling  a lively 
strain  from  one  of  the  operettas  popular  at  that  time — 
“ there  is  Pauline  ; she  is  coming  this  way.  One  word 
more,  M.  Beauvais  ” — and  she  turned  swiftly  upon  me 
with  an  air  of  almost  imperial  dignity — “ if  you  are 
modest  and  wrise,  you  will  remember  what  I have  said  to 
you ; if  you  are  conceited  and  foolish,  you  will  forget ! 
Au  revoir  ! ” 

And  before  I had  time  to  answer  her,  she  had  vanished, 
taking  her  violin  with  her,  and  leaving  me  in  a state  of 
mingled  perplexity  and  vague  annoyance.  However,  as 
I have  before  stated,  I never  paid  much  attention  to  He- 
loise  St.  Cyr,  or  attached  any  great  importance  to  her 
opinions  ; and  on  this  occasion  I soon  dismissed  her  from 
my  mind,  for  in  another  minute  an  ethereal  vision  clad  in 
soft  pink  and  white  draperies,  with  a curly  dark  head  and 
a pair  of  laughing  deep  blue  eyes,  appeared  at  the  open 
door  of  the  room,  and  Pauline  herself  entering,  stretched 
•out  both  her  hands  in  gay  greeting. 


WORMWOOD . 


4* 


" Bon  jour , Monsieur  Gaston!  How  long  have  you 
'been  here,  making  love  to  Heloise?  Ah,  mkchant ! I 
know  how  very  bad  you  are ! What ! you  come  to  see 
me — only  me  ? Oh,  yes,  that  is  a very  pretty  way  to  excuse 
yourself  ? Then  why  was  Heloise  crying  as  she  passed 
me  ? You  have  vexed  her,  and  I shall  not  forgive  you, 
for  I love  her  dearly  ! ” 

“ Crying  !”  I stammered  in  amazement.  “ Mademoi- 
selle St.  Cyr  ? Why,  she  was  as  bright  as  possible  just 
now;  she  has  been  playing  her  violin ” 

“ Yes ; she  plays  it  only  when  she  is  sad,”  and  Pauline 
nodded  her  head  sagely,  “ never  when  she  is  happy.  So 
that  I know  something  is  not  well  with  her;  and  who  am 
I to  blame  for  it  ? It  must  be  your  fault ! I shall  blame 
you” 

“ Me  J”  I stared  helplessly,  then  smiltd,  for  I at  once 
perceived  she  was  only  jesting,  and  I watched  her  with 
my  heart  beating  quick  hammer-strokes,  as  she  sank 
lazily  down  in  a cushioned  ottoman  near  the  fire,  and  held 
out  her  little  hands  to  the  warmth  of  the  red  glow. 

We  have  been  driving  in  the  Bois,  mamma  and  I,  and 
it  was  so  cold  ! ” she  said,  with  a delicate  frissonement  of 
her  pretty  figure.  “ Heloise  was  wise  to  remain  at  home; 
Only  she  missed  seeing  Monsieur  Antinous  from  Brit- 
tany ! ” 

Engrossed  as  I was  with  my  own  thoughts  and  the  con- 
templation of  her  beauty — for  I was  wondering  how  I 
should  begin  my  declaration  of  love — this  last  sentence  of 
hers  impressed  me  unpleasantly. 

“Do  you  mean  the  nephew  of  M.  Vaudron?”  I in- 
quired, with,  no  doubt,  a touch  of  annoyance  in  my  ac- 
cents which  she,  woman-like,  was  quick  to  notice. 

“Yes,  truly  ! I do  mean  the  nephew  of  M.  Vaudron  ! 99 
she  replied,  a little  sparkle  of  malicious  mirth  lighting  up 
her  lovely  eyes.  “ He  has  arrived.  Oh  qu’il  est  beau  ) 
He  is  a savage  from  Brittany — a forest  philosopher — very 
wise,  very  serious,  very  good!  Ah,  so  good!  He  is 
going  to  be  a priest,  you  know,  and  he  looks  so  grave  and 
tranquil  that  one  feels  quite  wicked  in  his  presence-  Ah, 
you  frown!”  and,  laughing,  she  clapped  her  hands  gayly. 
“You  are  jealous — jealous  because  I say  M.  Silvion 
Quidbl  is  handsome  ! ” 

“Jealous!”  I exclaimed,  with  some  heat,  “I?  Why 


42 


WORM  IV O OD. 


should  I be  ? I know  nothing  about  the  young  man— 
I have  not  seen  him  yet ! When  I do  I will  tell  you 
frankly  what  I think  of  him.  Meanwhile  ” — here  I gath- 
ered my  hesitating  courage  together — “ Pauline,  I want  to 
speak  to  you  ; will  you  be  serious  for  a moment  and  listen 
to  me  ? ” 

“ Serious  ? ” and  a surprised  look  flitted  over  her  face. 
Then,  as  I fixed  my  ardent  gaze  upon  her,  a deep  blush 
colored  her  fair  cheeks  and  brow,  and  she  quickly  rose 
from  her  chair  with  a sudden  movement  of  fear  or  timidity, 
making  as  though  she  would  have  fled  from  the  room. 
Put  I caught  her  hands  and  held  her  fast,  and  all  the 
pent-up  longing  of  my  soul  found  utterance  in  words. 
Her  beauty,  her  irresistible  sweetness,  my  deep  and 
deathless  love,  the  happiness  we  would  enjoy  when  once 
united, — these  were  the  themes  on  which  I discoursed 
with  the  fiery  eloquence  and  pleading  of  a troubadour  ; 
though,  truly  I scarcely  knew  what  I said,  so  over- 
whelming was  the  released  tide  of  my  excitement  and 
ardor.  And  she  ? She  trembled  a little  at  first,  but 
soon  grew  very  quiet,  and,  still  allowing  me  to  hold  her 
hands,  looked  up  with  an  innocent  vague  wonder. 

“You  really  want  to  marry  me,  Monsieur  Gaston?” 
she  asked,  a faint  smile  parting  her  lips.  “ Soon  ? ” 

“ Soon  ? ” I echoed  passionately.  “ Would  I might 
claim  you  to-mofrow  as  my  bride,  Pauline  ! then  should  1 
be  the  happiest  of  men  ! But  you  have  not  answered  me, 
mon  ange  I ” And  now  I ventured  to  put  my  arm  about 
her  and  draw  her  to  my  breast,  while  I adopted  the 
endearing  “ thou  ” cf  more  familiar  speech.  “ Dost  thou 
love  me,  Pauline — even  as  I love  thee  ? ” 

She  did  net  answer  at  once,  and  a cold  dread  seized 
my  heart;  was  HelcTse  St.  Cyr  right  after  all,  and  was 
she  not  sure  of  herself  ? A meditative  expression  dark- 
ened her  eyes  into  lovelier  hues  ; she  seemed  to  consider  ; 
and  I watched  her  in  an  agonized  suspense  that  almost 
stopped  my  breath.  Then,  with  a swift  action,  as  though 
•she  threw  all  reflection  to  the  winds,  she  laughed,  and 
nestled  her  pretty  head  confidingly  against  my  shoulder. 

“ Oui,  mon  Gaston  ! I love  thee  ! Thou  art  good  and 
kind  ; papa  is  pleased  with  thee,  mamaii  also  ; v/e  shall 
be  very,  very  happy  ! Ok,  qud  baiser !”  for  I had  in  the 
relief  and  ecstasy  of  the  moment  pressed  my  first  love- 


WORMWOOD.  ] -5 

kiss  on  her  sweet  mouth.  “ Must  we  always  kiss  each 
other  now  ? Is  it  necessary  ? ” 

“ Not  necessary  to  thee,  perhaps  ! ” I whispered  ten* 
derly,  kissing  her  again.  “ But  it  is  to  me  ! ” 

With  an  impulsive  half-petulant  movement,  she  drew 
herself  suddenly  away  from  my  embrace  ; then,  apparently 
regretting  the  hastiness  of  this  action,  she  came  once  more 
towards  me,  and,  folding  her  hands  in  demure  fashion  on 
my  arm,  looked  at  me  searchingly,  as  though  she  sought 
to  read  my  very  soul. 

“ Pauvre  gar$on  /”  she  sighed  softly,  “ thou  dost  truly 
love  me?  very,  very  dearly?  ” 

More  dearly,  I assured  her,  than  my  own  life  ! 

“ It  is  very  kind  of  thee,”  she  said,  with  a pretty  plaint- 
ivene::~,  “for  I am  very  stupid,  and  every  one  says  thou 
art  such  a clever  man  ! It  is  good  for  us  to  marry,  is  it 
not,  Gaston  ? Thou  art  sure  ? ” 

“ If  we  love  each  other — yes,  my  Pauline  ! Of  course 
it  is  good  for  us  to  marry ! ” I answered  eagerly,  a vague 
fear  arising  in  my  mind  lest  she  should  retract  or  hesitate. 
She  waited  with  downcast  eyes  for  a minute,  and  then 
glanced  up  at  me  radiantly  smiling. 

“ Then  we  will  marry  1 ” she  said.  “ We  will  live  at 
Neuilly,  and  papa  and  maman  will  visit  us,  and  Heloise 
will  come  and  see  us,  and  we  shall  please  everybody! 
Cestfini!  So  ! ” and  she  dropped  me  a tnischievous  lit- 
tle.c.ourtesy.  “Me  void , Monsieur  Gaston  ! votre  jolie petite 
fiancee  ! a votre  service  J” 

She  looked  so  ravishingly  pretty  and  enchanting  that  I 
was  about  to  snatch  her  in  my  arms  and  kiss  her  again 
and  yet  again,  when  the  door  opened  and  the  discreet 
Comtesse  de  Charmilles  entered  with  a serene  and  gra- 
cious kindliness  of  manner  that  plainly  evinced  her  knowl- 
edge and  approval  of  the  situation.  She  glanced  smil- 
ingly from  her  daughter  to  me,  and  from  me  back  to  her 
daughter,  and  straightway  comprehended  that  all  was  well. 

“ Bon  jour , mon  fits  !”  she  said  gently,  laying  a slight 
emphasis  on  the  affectionate  title,  and  adopting  the 
tutoyer  form  of  address  without  further  ceremony. 
“ Thou  art  very  welcome  ! Thou  wilt  stay  and  dine  this, 
evening?  M.  de  Charmilles  has  gone  to  persuade  thy 
father  to  join  us,  and  M.  Vaudron  is  coming  also,  with 
his  nephew,  M.  Silvion  Guidel.” 


<u 


WOFMWOOZ*. 


V, 

I have  forgotten  many  things.  Many  circumstances 
that  1 might  otherwise  have  remembered  are  now,  thanks 
to  the  merciful  elixir  of  love,  effaced  from  my  brain  as 
utterly  as  though  they  had  been  burnt  out  with  fire  ; but 
that  one  night  in  my  life — the  night  of  my  betrothal  to 
Pauline  de  Charmilles— remains  a fixture  in  my  memory, 
a sting  implanted  there  to  irritate  and  torture  me  when  t 
would  fain  lose  my  very  sense  of  being  in  the  depths  of 
oblivion.  It  was  a marked  evening  in  many  respects, 
marked,  not  only  by  my  triumph  as  Pauline’s  accepted 
iover,  but  also  by  the  astonishing  and  bewildering  pres- 
ence of  the  man  Silvion  Guidel.  I say  astonishing  and 
bewildering,  because  that  was  the  first  effect  his  singular 
beauty  made  upon  the  most  prejudiced  and  casual  ob- 
server. It  wras  not  that  he  was  in  first  flush  of  youth,  and 
that  his  features  still  had  all  the  fine  transparency  and 
glow  of  boyhood  upon  them  ; it  was  not  that  his  eyes, 
gray-black  and  fiery,  seemed  full  of  some  potent  magnetic 
force  wrhich  compelled  the  beholder’s  fascinated  gaze  ; no, 
it  was  the  expression  of  the  whole  countenance  that  wras 
so  extraordinarily  interesting,  an  expression  such  as  an 
inspired  painter  might  strive  to  convey  into  the  visage  of 
some  ideal  seraph  of  patience  and  wisdom  supernal.  I, 
like  every  one  else  at  the  house  of  the  De  Charmilles 
that  night,  found  myself  attracted  against  my  will  by  the 
graceful  demeanor  and  refined  courtesy  of  this  son  of  a 
Brittany  farmer,  this  mere  provincial,  whose  face  and 
figure  would  have  done  honor  to  the  most  brilliant  aris- 
tocratic assemblage.  The  former  instinctive  aversion  I 
had  felt  with  regard  to  him  subsided  for  the  time  being, 
and  I listened  as  attentively  as  any  one  at  table  when- 
ever his  voice,  melodious  as  a bell,  chimed  in  with  our 
conversation.  I was  perfectly  happy  myself,  for  in  a few 
brief  words,  simple  and  suited  to  the  occasion,  the  Comte 


WORMWOOD . 


4 S 

de  Charmilles  haa  announced  to  all  present  the  news  of 
his  daughter’s  engagement  to  me.  When  he  did  so  I 
glanced  quickly  at  Heloise  St.  Cyr,  but  though  she  looked 
even  paler  than  usual  she  gave  no  sign  either  of  surprise 
pr  pleasure.  My  father  had  then,  in  his  turn,  proposed 
the  health  of  the  “ chers  fiances,”  which  was  drunk  with 
readiness  by  all  except  Silvion  Guidel,  who  never  touched 
wine.  He  apologized  for  this  lack  of  bon  camaraderie , 
and  was  about  to  raise  a glass  of  water  to  his  lips,  in 
order  to  join  in  the  toast,  when  Heloise  spoke  across  the 
table  in  swift  eager  accents. 

“ Do  not  drink  my  cousin’s  health  in  water,  M.  Gui- 
del!” she  said.  “It  is  unlucky,  and  your  wishes  may 
prove  fatal  to  them  both  ! ” 

He  smiled,  and  at  once  set  down  the  glass. 

“ You  are  superstitious,  mademoiselle  ! ” he  replied* 
gently  bending  his  handsome  head  towards  her.  “ But  I 
will  not  try  to  combat  your  feeling.  I will  content  my- 
self with  a silent  prayer  in  my  heart  for  your  cousin’s 
happiness,  a prayer  which,  though  it  may  not  find  expres- 
sion in  words,  is  none  the  less  sincere.” 

His  voice  was  so  serious  and  soft  and  full  of  emotion, 
that  it  left  an  impression  of  gravity  upon  us ; that  vague 
subdued  sensation  that  comes  across  the  mind  when  the 
little  bell  rings  at  mass,  and  the  people  kneel  before  the 
Host  unveiled.  And  then  I saw  the  meditative  eyes  of 
Heloise  rest  upon  the  Breton  stranger  with  a curiously 
searching  earnestness  in  their  gray-green  depths,  a look 
that  seemed  to  be  silently  indicative  of  a desire  to  know 
more  of  his  character,  life,  and  aims.  The  dinner  went 
on,  and  we- were  all  conversing  more  or  less  merrily  on 
various  desultory  matters,  when  she  quite  suddenly  asked 
him  the  question — 

“ Are  you  really  going  to  be  a priest,  Monsieur  Gui- 
del ? ” 

He  turned  his  dark  picturesque  face  in  her  direction. 

“ I hope  so,  God  willing ! As  my  revered  uncle  will 
tell  you,  I hav&  studied  solely  for  the  priesthood.” 

“ Yes,  that  may  be,”  returned  Heloise,  a faint  color 
creeping  through  the  soft  pallor  of  her  cheeks.  “ But 
pardon  me  ! you  seem  also  to  have  studied  many  things 

not  necessary  to  religion.  For  instance ” 

“ Now,  He'loise,  petite  femme  Socrate  ! ” exclaimed  the 


46 


WORMWOOD. 


Comte  de  Charmilles  good-naturedly.  “ What  art  thou 
going  to  say  out  of  thy  stores  of  wisdom  ? You  must 
understand,  M.  GuidM  77 — and  he  turned  to  the  person  he 
addressed — * my  niece  is  a great  student  of  the  classics, 
and  is  well  versed  in  the  literature  of  many  nations,  so 
that  she  often  puts  me  to  shame  by  her  knowledge  of  the 
strange  and  wonderful  works  done  by  men  of  genius  in 
this  world  for  the  benefit  of  the  ignorant.  Excuse  her, 
therefore,  if  she  trespasses  on  your  ground  of  learning  ; I 
have  often  told  her  that  she  studies  like  a man.” 

Silvion  Guidel  bowed  courteously,  and  looked  towards 
He'loise  with  renewed  interest. 

“ I am  proud  to  have  the  honor  of  being  addressed  by 
one  who  has  the  air  of  a Corinne,  and  is  no  doubt  the 
possessor  of  more  than  Corinne’s  admirable  qualities  ! 77 
he  said  suavely.  “ You  were  observing,  mademoiselle, 
that  I seem  to  have  studied  things  not  altogether  neces- 
sary to  religion.  In  what  way  do  you  consider  this 
proved  ? 77 

He'loise  met  his  gaze  very  fixedly. 

“ I heard  you  speaking  with  my  uncle  some  minutes 
ago,  of  science/7  she  answered,  “ of  modern  science  in 
particular,  and  its  various  wonderful  discoveries.  Now 
do  you  not  find  something  in  that  branch  of  study, 
"which  confutes  much  of  the  legendary  doctrine  of  the 
Church  ? 77 

“ Much  that  seems  to  confute  it,  yes,77  he  returned 
quietly,  “ but  which,  if  pursued  far  enough,  would,  I am 
fully  persuaded,  strengthen  our  belief  instead  of  weaken- 
ing it.  I am  not  afraid  of  science,  mademoiselle  ; my 
faith  is  firm  ! 77 

Here  he  raised  his  magnificent  eyes  with  the'expression 
of  a rapt  saint,  and  again  we  felt  that  embarrassed 
gravity  stealing  over  us  as  if  we  were  in  church  instead 
of  at  dinner.  M.  Vaudron,  good-hearted  man,  was  pro- 
foundly touched.  # 

“ Well  said,  Silvion,  ■ mon  gar$on  ? 77  he  said  with 
tender  seriousness.  “ When  the  good  God  has  once 
drawn  our  hearts  to  the  love  of  His  Holy  service,  it 
matters  little  what  the  learning  or  the  philosophy  of  the 
world  can  teach  us.  The  world  and  the  things  of  the 
world  are  always  on  the  surface,  but  the  faith  of  a servant 
of  the  Church  is  implanted  deep  in  the  soul  ! 7> 


WORMWOOD. 


4 7 


He  nodded  Jiis  head  several  times  with  pious  sedate- 
ness, then,  relapsing  into  smiles,  added,  “ Not  that  even. 
I can  boast  of  such  strong  faith  as  my  old  Margot  after 
all  ! She  has  a favorite  saint,  St.  Francis  of  Assisi  ; she 
has  made  a petticoat  for  his  image  'which  she  keeps  in 
her  sleeping-chamber,  and  whenever  she  wishes  to  obtain 
any  special  favor  she  sticks  a pin  in  the  petticoat,  with 
the  most  absolute  belief  that  the  saint  noticing  that  pin* 
will  straightway  remember  what  he  has  to  do  for  her* 
without  any  further  reminder  ! ” 

We  laughed, — I say  we,  but  Silvion  Guidel  did  not 
laugh. 

41  It  is  very  touching  and  very  beautiful,”  he  said,  “ that 
quaint  faith  of  the  lower  classes  concerning  special 
intercession.  I have  never  been  able  to  see  anything 
ridiculous  in  the  superstition  which  is  born  of  ignorance  \ 
as  well  blame  an  innocent  child  for  believing  in  the 
pretty  fancies  taken  from  fairy-tales,  as  scoff  at  the  poor 
peasant  for  trusting  that  one  or  other  of  the  saints  will 
have  a special  care  of  his  vineyard  or  field  of  corn.  I 
love  the  ignorant  ! they  are  our  flock,  our  1 little  ones/ 
whom  we  are  to  guide  and  instruct  ; if  all  were  wise  in 
the  world ■” 

“ There  would  be  no  necessity  for  churches  or  priests  1 
I put  in  hastily. 

My  father  frowned  warningly  ; and  I at  once  perceived 
I had  ruffled  the  devout  feeling's  of  the  Comte  de 
Charmilles  who  nevertheless,  remembering  that  I was  the 
excellent  match  he  had  just  secured  for  his  daughter* 
refrained  from  allowing  any  angry  observation  to  escape 
him.  Silvion  Guidel  however,  looked  straight  at  me,  and 
as  his  brilliant  eyes  flashed  on  mine,  the  aversion  I had 
felt  for  him  before  I ever  saw  him  sprang  up  afresh  in 
my  mind, 

“ Monsieur  is  of  the  new  school  of  France  ? ” he  in- 
quired with  the  faintest  little  curl  of  mockery  dividing 
his  delicate  lips.  “ He  possibly  entertains — as  so  many 
do — the  progressive  principles  of  atheist  and  republican 

The  blood  rushed  to  my  face  ; his  manner  angered  me, 
and  I should  have  answered  him  with  a good  deal  of  heat 
and  impatience,  had  I not  felt  a soft  little  hand  suddenly 
steal  into  mine  and  press  my  fingers  appealingly.  It 
was  Pauline's  hand  ; she  was  a timid  creature,  and  she 


48 


WORMWOOD. 


dreaded  any  sort  of  argument,  lest  it  might  lead  to  high? 
words,  and  general  unpleasantness.  But  whatever  I might 
have  said  was  forestalled  by  M.  Vaudron,  who  addressed 
his  nephew  gently,  yet  with  a touch  of  severity  too^ 

“ Tais-toi — tais-toj,  mon-gar z / ” he  said,  using  the  old 
Breton  term  of  endearment,  “ Monsieur  Gaston  Beauvais 
is  a young  man  like  thee,  and  in  all  probability  he  is  no 
more  certain  of  his  principles  than  thou  art  ! It  takes  a 
long  while 'to  ripen  a man’s  sense  of  right  and  honor 
into  a fixed  guiding-rule  for  life.  Those  who  are  re- 
publicans in  the  flash  of  their  impetuous  youth  may  be 
Royalists  or  Imperialists  when  they  arrive  at  mature  man- 
hood ; those  who  are  atheists  when  they  first  commence 
their  career,  may  become  devout  servants  cf  heaven 
before  they  have  reached  the  middle  of  their  course. 
Patience  for  all  and  prejudice  for  none  ! otherwise  we,  as 
followers  of  Christ,  lay  ourselves  open  to  just  blame. 
You  are  boys — both  you  and  Monsieur  Gaston  ; as  boys 
you  must  be  judged  by  your  elders,  till  time  and  experi- 
ence give  you  the  right  to  be  considered  as  men.” 

This  little  homily  was  evidently  very  satisfactory  to 
both  my  father  and  the  Comte  de  Charmilles.  Silvion 
Guidel  bowed  respectfully,  as  he  always  did  whenever  his 
uncle  spoke  to  him,  and  the  conversation  again  drifted 
into  more  or  less  desultory  channels.  When  the  ladies 
left  the  dinner-table  for  the  drawing-room,  Guidel  crossed 
over  and  took  Pauline’s  vacated  seat  next  to  mine. 

“I  must  ask  yofl  to  pardon  me!”  he  said  softly, 
under  cover  of  a discussion  on  finance,  which  was  being 
carried  on  by  the  other  gentlemen.  “ I feel  that  I spoke 
to  you  rudely  and  roughly,  and  I am  quite  ashamed. 
Will  you  forget  it  and  be  friends  ? ” 

He  extended  his  hand.  There  was  a soft,  caressing 
grace  about  him  that  was  indescribably  fascinating ; his 
beautiful  countenance  was  like  that  of  a pleading  angel, 
his  eyes  bright  with  warmth  and  sympathy.  I could  do 
no  less  than  take  his  proffered  hand  in  my  own,  and 
assure  him  of  my  esteem,  and  though  my  words  were 
brief  and  scarcely  enthusiastic,  he  seemed  quite  satisfied. 

“How  lovely  she  is!”  he  then  said  in  the  same  con- 
fidential tone,  leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  smiling  a 
little.  “ How  like  a fairy  dream  ! It  is  impossible  to 
imagine  a more  enchanting  creature  ! ” 


WORMWOOD. 


49 


T , , , t,;m  ourorised.  I had  got  the  very  foolish 

devotees5  of  religion  never 

perceived  a woman  s beauty. 

» lovely'?”-**,  Mademoiselle  de  Char, 
mines  - Ah  I you  are  indeed  to  be  congratulated  ( She  is 

said'amaaed  ” lately  vexed 

He  smiled.  “ Mon  ami , religion  is  poetry —poetry  is 
r • ^he  worship  of  beauty  is  as  holy  a service  as 
the§ worship  of  the  beauty-creating  Divinity.  There  is  a 
„eat  dial  of  harm  done  to  the  church  by  b.gotry-tl  e 
g dTn  nre  t00  fond  of  sackcloth  and  ashes,  pern- 

i~E£rSSsfgi 

of  happiness  and  hope,  not  sorrow  and  d^a  h If 
become  an  ordained  servant  of  Chris  , .m 

PC  eves  devoutly  and  made  almost  imperceptibly  the 
& the  Cross  I shall  make  it  my  province  to  preach 
3.4I  sMl  spaalt  of  .he  flowers,  the  birds  and  trees,  o 
the  stars  and  their  inexhaustible  marvels,  of  the  great 
rivers  and  greater  oceans,  of  the  blessedness  of  life,  of 
everything  that  is  fair  and  gracious  and  suggestive  of 

Pr  “"would  you  take  the  beauty  of  woman  as  a text,  for 

example  ? ” I asked  incredulously  f 

“ Whv  not1”’  he  answered  calmly.  Ihe  beauty  o 
-woman  is  one/of  the  gifts  of  God,  to  gladden  o^  eyes  it 
• mot  to  be  reiected  or  deemed  unsacted.  1 should  love 
m preach T&iful  women  I they  are  the  reflexes  of 

b'»UNM  aUwys!  ” I said  dryly,  and  with  a slight  scorn  for 


5° 


WORMWOOD. 


his  ignorance.  “ You  have  not  lived  in  Paris,  M.  Guidbl 
there  are  lovely  women  at  the  cafes  chantants ; and  also 
at  other  places  not  mentionable  to  the  ears  of  a student 
Of  religion  ; women  delicate  as  nymphs  and  dainty  as 
flowers,  who  possess  not  a shred  of  character,  and  who 
have  been  veritable  harpies  of  vice  from  their  earliest 
years  ! ” 


A sudden  interest  flashed  into  his  face.  I noticed  it 
with  surprise,  and  he  saw  that  I did,  for  a rich  wave  of 
cool  rushed  up  to  his  brows,  and~he  avoided  my  gaze, 
then  an  idea  seemed  to  strike  him,  and  he  uttered  it 
directly,  with  that  faint  tinge  of  mockery  that  once  before 
had  marked  his  accents  when  addressing  me. 

“ Ah  ! you  have  had  a wider  experience  ! ” he  said  softly, 
you  have  met  these — these  harpies  ? ” 

I was  indescribably  irritated  at  this.  What  business 
had  he  to  cast  even  the  suspicion  of  such  a slur  on  my 
manner  of  conduct?  I controlled  my  annoyarice  with 
uiriiculty,  and  replied  curtly  : — 

“'Vou  mistake  ! No  gentleman  who  cares  a straw  for 
his  good  reputation  visits  such  low  and  despicable  haunts 
as  they  inhabit.  What  I have  told  you  I know  by  hear- 
say.  ' k J J 


Indeed  ! and  he  sighed  gently.  “ But  one  should 
always  prove  the  truth  of  things  before  believing  in  an  ill 
report.  Virtue  is  so  very  easily  calumniated  ! ” 

, * a^oud.  “Perhaps  you  would  like  to  meet 

the  harpies  m question  ? ” I said  half  jestingly. 

He  was  not  offended.  He  looked  at  me  with  the 
utmost  seriousness.  * 

“ I should  ! ” he  admitted  quite  frankly.  “ If  they  have 
taken  they  can  be  raised  up;  our  Divine  Lord  never 
turned  away  in  scorn  from  even  a sinful  woman  ! ” 

I uttered  an  impatient  exclamation —but  said  no  morer 
as  just  then  the  Comte  de  Charmilles  rose  from 
table,  my  father  and  the  Cure  following  his  example,  and 
we  aL  made  our  entrance  into  the  drawing-room,  where 
the  ladies  awaited  us,  and  where  coffee  was  alread/pre- 
pared.  I took  instant  advantage  of  my  * newly-gained 
privileges  as  Pauline’s  fiance  to  ensconce  myself  by  her 
side,  and,  drawing  a chair  to  where  she  sat  toying  with 
some  delicate  embroidery,  I conversed  with  her  in  that 
dulcet  sotto-voce,  which,  though  very  delightful  and  con- 


WORMWOOD. 


51 


venient  to  the  lovers  concerned,  is  often  peculiarly  pro- 
voW  to  those  left  out  in  the  cold.  Once  or  twice  I saw 
, ^ irl  nriest  Guidel  glance  at  us  with  a singular 

flashing  light  in  his  eyes  as  though  he  had  become  sud- 
denly conscious  that  there  were  pleasanter  things  to  be  done 
than  the  chanting  of  masses,  droning  of  offices  a 
counting  of  rosary-beads ; but  he  was  for  the  most  part 
ve-v  reserved  and  quiet,  only  now  and  then  joining  in 
conversation  with  the  Comte  de  Charmilles,  yet  proving 
himself  whenever  he  did  speak,  to  be  unquestiona  y 

SPdeep«“  " STi-4r  «■"*  Pauline's 

’‘“jyVoorin  ^becoming  enamored  of  the  handsome 
Breton!  ” I said.  “Who  knows  but  that  she  may  not 
lead  him  altogether  aside  from  his  holier  intentions 

She  looked  at  me,  with  a sudden  rosy  flush  of  color  in 

he‘‘Oheno'  ” she  murmured  hastily,  and  there  was,  or  so- 
I then  fancied,  a touch  of  petulance  m her  accents. 
“That  is  impossible!  Heloise  loves  no  one,  she  wil 

little  hand  in  mine,  studied  ali 

its  pretty  dimples  and  rose-tinted  finger-tips.  ^ 

“ Not  yet,  perhaps  ! ” I answered  softly.  but  a time 
for  love  will  come  to  her,  Pauline,  even  as  to  thee 
“ Ireyiu  sure  it  has’ tome  for  me!”  she  asked  half 
timidly,  half  mischievously.  “Are  you  so  vain  Gaston, 
as  to  dink  that  I — I — worship  you,  for  instance  . 
aS liaised  my  eyes  to  hers,  and  saw  that  she  was  smil- 

Worship  is  a strong  word,  my  sweetest,  I replied. 
It  is  for  vie  to  worship ! not  for  you ! And  I do  worship 
the  fairest  angel  under  heaven  ! ” 

And  I furtively  kissed  the  little  hand  I heU; 

“Yes,”  she  said,  with  a meditative  air.  But,  som 
times  a woman  may  worship  a man,  may  she  not . b 
Cylove  him  so  much.  that  he  may  seem  to  her  mind  al- 

m<^ Assuredly  she  may  ! ” I rejoined  slowly,  and  in  some 
surprise,  for  she  had  spoken  with  unusuai  seriousness 
and  passion ; “ but,  Pauline,  such  excess  of  love  is  rare, 


52 


WOXMIVOOZ). 


™r“verI  ^ ls.not  lively  to  last,  it  is  too  violent  and  head- 
st  ong,  it  is  alvvays  unwise  and  often  dangerous,  and  the 
priests  would  tell  you  it  is  wicked  ! !’ 

. “ Ye,s’  1 am  sure  it  is  wicked  ! ” she  acquiesced  sigh- 
ing a little,  “dreadfully  wicked!  and-and,  as  you  sly 
angerous  She  paused;  the  pensiveness  passed  from 
her  bright  face  like  a passing  cloud  from  a star,  and  she 

“a\Wlldb  a /“I6  a laU?h  °f  perfect  contentment. 

eH’  be  satisfied,  Gaston  ! I do  not  worship  'thee  so  / 

am  not  wicked!  I am  thy  very  good  little  fiancee,  who 
voIltloutT”  f°nd  °f  thee’  and  hapPy  in  % company, 

And  bending  towards  me,  she  took  a rose  from  her 
bouquet-de-corsage,  and  fastened  it  in  my  button-hole,  and 
I,  enchanted  by  her  sweet  manner  and  coquettish  grace 
attached  not  the  least  importance  to  what  she  had  just 

been  saying.  I remembered  her  words  afterwards after- 

wards  when  I learnt  the  fact  that  a woman  can  indeed 
•n°n  !P  i a man  Wltk  sucb  idolatrous  fervor,  that  she 
will  allow  herself  to  be  set  down  in  the  dust  of  contempt 
or  his  sake,  aye  . and  be  torn  and  tortured  to  the  very 
eath  rather  than  cease  to  adore!  Women  are  strange 
folk ! Some  are  cruel,  some  frivolous,  some  faithless  ; but 
I believe  they  are  nearly  all  alike  in  their  immense, 
their  boundless  capacity  for  loving.  Find  me  a woman 

hlZ  f 3 Ioved  anything  or  anybody,  and  you  will 

have  found  the  one,  the  only  marvel  of  the  centuries  1 


WORMWOOD. 


S3 


\ 

YIo 

That  same  evening,  the  evening  of  Silvion  GuidbPs 
introduction  into  our  midst,  Hdloise  St.  Cyr  suddenly  in- 
vested herself  with  the  powers  of  an  Arabian  Nights  en- 
chantress, and  transferred  us  ail  whither  she  would  on  the 
magic  swing  of  her  violin-bow.  As  a general  rule,  so  her 
aunt  told  me,  she  never  would  exhibit  her  rare  talent  be- 
fore any  listeners  that  were  not  of  her  own  family,  so  her 
behavior  on  this  occasion  was  altogether  exceptional.  It 
was  Pauline  who  asked  her  to  play,  and  probably  the  fact 
that  it  was  her  little  cousin’s  betrothal-night  induced 
her  to  accede  to  the  eager  request.  Anyway,  she  made 
no  difficulty  about  it,  but  consented  at  once,  without  the 
least  hesitation.  Pauline  accompanied  her  on  the  piano, 
being  careful  to  subdue  her  part  of  the  performance  to  a 
delicate  softness,  so  that  we  might  hear,  to  its  full  splen- 
ckor  of  tone  and  utmost  fineness  of  silver  sound,  the  mar- 
velous music  this  strange,  pale,  golden-haired  woman 
flung  out  on  the  air  in  such  wild  throbs  of  passion  that 
our  very  hearts  beat  faster  as  we  listened.  While  she 
played,  she  was  in  herself  a fit  study  for  an  artist ; she 
stood  within  the  arched  embrasure  of  a window,  where 
the  fall  of  the  close-drawn  rose  silken  curtains  provided 
a lustrous  background  for  her  figure  ; clad  in  a plain 
straight  white  gown,  with  a flower  to  relieve  its  classical 
severity,  her  rounded  arm  had  a snowy  gleam,  like  that  of 
marble,  contrasted  with  the  golden-brown  hue  of  her 
Amati  violin.  To  and  fro,  with  unerring  grace  and  ex- 
quisite precision,  swept  that  wand-like  bow,  with  the  ease 
and  lightness  oi  a willow-branch  waving  in  the  wind,  and 
yet  with  a force  and  nerve-power  that  were  absolutely  as- 
tonishing in  a woman-performer.  Grand  pleading  notes 
came  quivering  to  us  from  the  sensitive  fibre  of  the 
fourth  string ; delicate  harmonies  flew  over  our  heads  like 
fine  foam-bells,  breaking  from  a wave  of  tune  ; we  caught 


5* 


IV OR  lit  WO  O p . 


faint  whispers  of  the  sweetest  spiritual  confessions* 
prayers  and  aspirations ; we  listened  to  the  airy  dancing 
of  winged  sylphs  on  golden  floors  of  melody  ; we  heard 
the  rustle  of  the  nightingale’s  brown  wings  against  cool 
green  leaves,  followed  by/a  torrent  of  “ full-throated  ” 
song;  and  when  the  player  finally  ceased,  with  a rich 
chord  that  seemed  to  divide  the  air  like  the  harmonious 
roll  of  a dividing  billow,  we  broke  into  a spontaneous 
round  of  enthusiastic  applause.  I sprang  up  from  where 
I had  been  sitting,  rapt  in  a silent  ecstasy  of  attention, 
and  poured  out  the  praise  which,  being  unpremeditated 
and  heartfelt,  was  not  mere  flattery.  She  heard  me,  and 
srmled,  a strange  little  wistful  smile. 

So  you  love  music,  Monsieur  Gaston  ! ” she  said. 
“ Does  it  teach  you  apything,  I wonder  ? ”' 

“ Teach  me  anything?”  I echoed.  “Are  you  propos- 
ing enigmas,  mademoiselle  ? ” 

Pauline  looked  round  from  the  piano  with  a half-per- 
plexed expression  on  her  lovely  features. 

“ That  is  one  of  Heloise’s  funny  ideas,”  she  declared. 
“ Music  teaches  her,  so  she  says,  all  sorts  of  things,  not 
only  beautiful,  but  terrible.  Now  I can  see  nothing  ter- 
rible in  music ! ” 

Heloise  bent  over  her  swiftly,  and  kissed  her  curls.  • 
“No,  cherie ; because  you  have  never  thought  of  any- 
thing sad.  Even  so  may  it  always  be  ! ” 

“ Of  course  sorrow  is  expressed  in  music,”  said  Silvion 
Guidel,  who,  almost  unobserved,  had  joined  our  little 
group  near  the  window,  and  now  stood  leaning  one  arm 
on  the  piano,  regarding  Pauline  as  he  spoke,  “ sorrow 
and  joy  alternately  ; but  when  sorrow  and  joy  deepen  into 
darker  and  more  tragic  colors,  I doubt  whether  music  can. 
adequately  denote  absolute  horror,  frenzy,  or  remorse. 
A tragedy  in  sound  seems  to  me  almost  impossible.” 

“Yet  language  is  sound,”  replied  Heloise,  “even  as 
music  is,  and  music  is  often  able  to  go  on  with  a story 
when  language  breaks  off  and  fails.  You  would  have 
your  mind  turned  to  a tragic  key,  M.  Guidel  ? Well, 
then,  listen  ! There  is  no  greater  tragedy  than  the 
ever-recurring  one  of  love  and  death  ; and  this  is  a sad 
legend  of  both.  Do  not  play,  Pauline,  via  douce  ! I will 
be  an  independent  soloist  this  time  !” 

We  all  razed  at  her  in  vague  admiration  as  she  to~1’  up 


WORMWOOD. 


55 


her  violin  once  more,  and  began  to  play  a delicate  prelude, 
more  like  the  rippling  of  a brook  than  the  sound  of  a 
stringed  instrument.  The  thread  of  melody  seemed  to 
wander  in  and  out  through  tufts  of  moss  and  budding 
violets ; and  all  at  once,  while  we  were  still  drinking  in 
these  dulcet  notes,  she  ceased  abruptly,  and  still  holding 
the  violin  in  position,  recited  aloud  in  a voice  harmonious 
as  music  itself — 

“ Elle  avait  de  beaux  cheveux,  blonds* 

< Comme  une  moisson  d’aout,  si  longs 
Qu’ils  lui  tombaient  jusqu’au  talons. 

“ Elle  avait  une  voix  etrange, 

Musicale,  de  fee  ou  d’ange, 

Des  yeux  verts  sous  leur  noire  frange.” 

^Tere  the  bow  moved  caressingly  upwards  and  a plaint- 
ively wild  tune  that  seemed  born  cf  high  mountains  and 
dense  forests  floated  softly  through  the  room.  And  above 
it,  the  player’s  voice  still  rose  and  fell — 

“ Lui,  ne  craignait  pas  de  rival, 

Quand  il  traversait  mont  ou  val, 

En  l’emportant  sur  son  che^al. 

“ Car,  pour  tous  ceux  de  la  contree 
Alti&re  elle  s’etait  montree 
Jusqu’au  jour  qu’li  l’eut  recontree.” 

The  music  changed  to  a shuddering  minor  key,  and  a 
sobbing  wail  broke  from  the  strings. 

' “ L’ amour  la  prit  si  fort  au  coeur, 

Que  pour  un  sounre  moqueur, 

II  lui  vint  un  mal  de  langueur. 

*This  exquisite  poem,  entitled  “ L’Archet,”  here  quoted  in  full, 
was  written  by  one  Charles  Cros,  a French  poet,  whose  distinctly 
great  abilities  were  never  encouraged  or  recognized  in  his  lifetime. 
Young  still  and  full  of  promise,  he  died  quite  recently  in  Paris,  sur- 
rounded by  the  very  saddest  circumstances  of  suffering,  poverty,  and 
neglect.  The  grass  has  scarcely  had  time  to  grow  long  or  rank 
enough  over  his  grave ; when  it  has,  the  critics  of  his  country  will 
possibly  take  up  his  book,  “ Le  Coffret  de  Santal,”  and  call  the  at- 
tention of  France  to  his  perished  genius.  At  present  he  is  only  very 
slightly  remembered  by  a set  of  playful  verses,  entitled  “ Le  Hareng 
Saur,”  written  merely  for  the  amusement  of  children  ; and  yet  the- 
“ Rendezvous  ” exists — a poem  almost  as  beautiful  aid  weird  as 
Keats’s  “Belle  dame  sans  Merci  ” — allowing  for  the  difference  of 
languages. 


56 


WORM  WOOD, 


" Et  dans  ses  dernieres  caresses : 

Fais  un  archet  avec  mes  tresses, 

Pour  charmer  tes  autres  mattresses! 

“ Puis,  dans  un  long  baiser  nerveux 
Elle  mourut ! ” 

And  here  we  distinctly  heard  the  solemn  beat  of  a 
tuneral  march  underlying  the  pathetic  minor  melody — 

“ Suivant  ses  voeux 
II  fit  l’archet  de  ses  cheveux ! ” 

There  was  a half  pause,  then  all  suddenly  clamorous 
chords  echoed  upon  our  ears  like  the  passionate  exclama- 
tions of  an  almost  incoherent  despair.  ^ 

“ Comme  un  aveugle  qui  marmonne, 

Sur  un  violon  de  Cremone 
II  jouait,  demandant  l’aumone. 

f “ Tous  avaient  d’enivrants  frissons, 

A l’ecouter.  Car  dans  ces  sons 

IS  Yivaient  la  morte  et  ses  chansons. 

* / 

t 

i “ Le  roi,  charme,  fit  sa  fortune. 

Lui,  sut  plaire  a la  reine  brune. 

Et  l’enlever  au  clair  de  lune. 

“ Mais,  chaque  fois  qu’il  y touchait 
Pour  plaire  a la  reine,  l’archet 
Tristement  le  lui  reprochait ! 

Oh,  the  unutterable  sadness,  the  wailing  melancholy 
of  that  wandering  wild  tune  ! Tears  filled  Pauline’s- eyes, 
she  clasped  her  little  hands  in  her  lap  and  looked  at  her 
cousin  in  awe  and  wonder ; and  I saw  Guidel’s  color 
come  and  go  with  the  excess  of  emotion  the  mingled 
music  and  poetry  aroused  in  him  for  all  his  quiet  de- 
.meanor.  Heioise  continued — 

“ Au  son  du  funebre  langage 
Us  moururent  k mi-voyage. 

Et  la  morte  reprit  son  gage. 

“ Elle  reprit  ses  cheveux,  blonds 
Comme  une  moisson  d’aout,  si  longs 
Qu’ils  lui  tombaient  jusqu’au  talons  ! 99 

A long-drawn  sigh  of  sound,  and  all  was  still!  So 


WORMWOOD. 


57 

deeply  fascinated  were  we  with  this  recitation  and  violin- 
music  combined,  that  we  sat  silent  as  though  under  a 
.^pell,  till  we  became  gradually  conscious  that  Heloise 
./as  surveying  us  with  a slight  smile,  and  a little  more 
color  in  her  cheeks  than  usual.  Then  we  surrounded  her 
with  acclamations,  Pauline  moving  up  to  her,  and  hiding 
her  tetir-wet  eyes  in  her  breast. 

“ You  are  a genius,  mademoiselle  ! ” said  Silvion  Guidel, 
bowing  profoundly  to  her  as  he  spoke.  “ Your  gifts  are 
heaven-born  and  marvellous  ! ” 

“ That  is  true  ! — that  is  true  !”  declared  the  good  Cure, 
crughing  away  a suspicious  little  huskiness  of  voice.  “ It 
is  astonishing.  I have  never  heard  anything  like  it  ! It 
is  enough  to  make  a whole  congregation  of  sinners 
weep  ! ” 

• Heloise  laughed.  “ Or  else  take  to  sinning  afresh  !” 
she  said,  with  that  slight  touch  of  sarcasm  which  some- 
times distinguished  her.  “ There  is  nothing  in  4 l’Archet/ 
men  pere , to  incline  the  refractory  to  penitence.” 

“ Perhaps  not,  perhaps  not ! ” — and  M.  Vaudron  rubbed 
4iis  nose  very  hard — “ but  it  moves  the  heart,  my  child  ; 
such  poetry  and  such  music  move  the  heart  to  something , 
that  is  evident.  And  the  influence  must  be  good  ; it  cam 
not  possibly  be  bad  ! ” 

“That  depends  entirely  on  the  temperament  of  the 
listener,”  replied  Heloise  quietly,  as  she  put  back  her 
violin  in  its  case,  despite  our  entreaties  that  she  would 
play  something  else.  The  servant  had  just  brought  in  a 
tray  of  wine  and  biscuits,  and  she  prepared  to  dispense 
these  with  her  ordinary  “practical-utility”  manner,  thus 
waiving  aside  any  further  conversation  on  her  own  musical 
talents.  The  Comte  and  Comtesse  de  Charmilles  were 
accepting  w'ith  much  pleased  complacence  my  father’s 
warm  and  admiring  praise  of  their  niece, — and  presently 
the  talk  became  general,  exclusive  of  myself  and  Pauline, 
whom  I had  kept  beside  me  in  a little  corner  apart  from 
the  others,  so  that  I might  say  my  lingering  good-night 
to  her  wuth  all  the  tenderness  and  pride  I felt  in  my  new 
position  as  her  accepted  future  husband. 

“ I shall  come  and  see  you  to-morrow,”  I whispered. 
“ You  wall  be  glad,  Pauline  ? ” 

She  smiled.  “ Oh  yes  ! you  will  come  every  day  now, 
I'  suppose  ? ” 


WORMWOOD. 


58 

€t  Would  it  please  you  if  I did  ? ” I asked. 

“ Would  it  please  you?”  she  inquired,  evading  the 
question. 

Whereupon  I launched  forth  once  more  into  passionate 
protestations  which  she  listened  to  with,  as  I fancied,  the 
least  little  touch  of  weariness.  I stopped  short  abruptly. 

“ You  are  tired,  ma  cherie  !”  I said  tenderly.  “ I am 
sure  you  are  tired  ! ” 

“ Yes,  I am,”  she  confessed,  smothering  a little  yawn* 
and  giving  a careless  upward  stretch  of  her  lovely 
rounded  arms,  much  to  my  secret  admiration.  “ I think 
my  cousin’s  music  exhausted  me  ! Do  you  know  ” — and 
she  turned  her  sweet  blue  eyes  upon  me  with  a wistful  ex- 
pression— “ it  frightened  me  ! It  must  be  terrible  to  love 
like  that ! ” 

“ Like  what  ? ” I asked  playfully,  rather  amused  by  the 
tragic  earnestness  of  her  tone. 

She  glanced  up  quickly,  and,  seeing  that  I smiled,  gave 
a little  petulant  shrug  of  her  shoulders. 

“ Like  the  lady  with  the  ‘ cheveux  si  longs , quails  Ibi 
tombaient  jusqu’au  talons/’”  she  answered.  “But  you 
laugh  at  me,  so  it  does  not  matter  ! ” 

“It  was  all  a fable,  ma  mie /”  I said  coaxingly.  “It 
should  affect  you  no  more  than  a fairy-tale  ! ” 

“ Yet  there  may  be  a soup^on  of  truth  even  in  fables  ! ” 
she  said,  with  that  sudden  seriousness  which  I had  once 
or  twice  before  remarked  in  her.  “ But  tell  me,  Gaston, 
— remember  you  promised  to  tell  me ! — what  do  you  think 
of  M.  Silvion  Guidel  ? ” 

I looked  across  the  room  to  where  he  stood,  not  drink- 
ing wine  as  the  others  were  doing,  but  leaning  slightly 
agamst  the  mantelpiece,  conversing  with  the  Comtesse  de 
Charmilles. 

“He  is  very  handsome!”  I admitted.  “Too  hand- 
some for  a man — he  should  have  been  a woman.” 

“ And  clever  ? ” persisted  Pauline.  “ Do  you  think  he 
is  cfever  ? ” 

“ There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that ! ” I answered  curtly. 
“ J fancy  he  will  be  rather  out  of  his  element  as  a priest.” 

“Oh,  but  he  is  good ! ” said  my  fiancee  earnestly,  open- 
ir  ▼ her  blue  eyes  very  wide. 

‘ So  he  may  be  ! ” I laughed  ; “ but  all  good  men  need 
» t become  priests  ! Par  exemple , you  would  not  cali  me 


WORMWOOD , 


59 


* 

very  bad  ; but  I am  not  going  to  be  such  a fool  as  to  take 
the  vow  of  celibacy — I am  going  to  marry  you.” 

“ And  you  imagine  that  will  be  very  fortunate  ? ” she 
said,  with  a bright  saucy  smile. 

“ The  only  fortune  I desire ! ” I replied,  kissing  her 
hand. 

She  blushed  prettily,  then  rising,  moved  away  towards 
where  the  rest  of  the  party  stood,  and  joined  in  their  con- 
versation. I followed  her  example,  and  after  a little  more 
chat,  the  last  good-nights  were  said,  and  we — that  is,  my- 
self and  my  father,  the  Cure  and  his  nephew — took  our 
leave.  We  all  four  walked  pa*t  of  the  way  home  to- 
gether, the  jf^lk  between  us  turning  for  the  most  part  on 
the  interesting  subject  of  my  engagement  to  Pauline,  and 
many  were  the  congratulations  showered  upon  me  by 
good  old  Vaudron,  who  earnestly  expressed  the  hope  that 
it  might  be  his  proud  privilege  to  perform  for  us  the 
Church  ceremony  of  marriage.  My  father  was  in  high 
spirits  ; such  a match  was  precisely  what  he  had  always 
wished  for  me.  He  was  a rank  Republican,  and  with  the 
usual  Republican  tendency,  had  a great  weakness  for  un- 
blemished aristocratic  lineage,  such  as  the  De  Charmilles 
undoubtedly  possessed.  Silvion  Guidel  was  the  most 
silent  of  us  all, — he  walked  beside  me,  and  seemed  so  ab- 
sorbed in  his  own  reflections  that  he  started  as  though 
from  a dream,  when,  at  a particular  turning  in  the  road, 
we  stopped  to  part  company. 

“ I hope  I shall  see  more  of  you,  M.  Gaston,”  he  tnen 
said,  suddenly  proffering  me  his  slim  delicate-looking 
hand.  “ I have  had  very  few  friends  of  my  own  age  ; I 
trust  I may  claim  you  as  one  ? ” 

“Why,  of  course  you  may ! \ interposed  my  father 
cheerily,  “ though  Gaston  is  not  very  religious,  I fear  • 
Still  he  is  a genial  lad,  though  I say  it  that  should  not ; 
he  will  show  you  some  of  the  fine  sights  of  Paris,  and 
make  the  time  spin  by  pleasantly.  Come  and  see  us 
whenever  you  like ; your  uncle  knows  that  my  house  is  as 
free  to  him  as  his  own.” 

With  these  and  various  other  friendly  expressions  we 
went  each  on  our  several  ways  ; the  Cure  and  his  nephew 
going  to  the  left,  my  father  and  I continuing  the  road 
straight  onwards.  We  lit  our  cigars  and  walked  for  some 
minutes  without  speaking,  then  my  father  broke  Silence. 


6o 


WORMWOOD . 


“ A remarkably  handsome  fellow,  that  Guidel  ! ” he 
said.  “ Dangerously  so,  for  a priest ! It  is  fortunate 
that  his  lady-penitents  will  not  be  able  to  see  him  very 
distinctly  through  the  confessional-gratings,  else  who 
knows  what  might  happen  ! He  has  a wonderful  gift  of 
eloquence  too  ; dost  thou  like  him,  Gaston  ? ” 

“ No  ! ” I replied  frankly,  and  at  once,  “ I cannot  say  I 
do  ! ” 

JVTy  father  looked  surprised. 

“But  why?” 

“ Impossible  to  tell,  mon  pere.  He  is  fascinating,  he  is 
agreeable,  he  is  brilliant ; but  there  is  something  in  him 
that  I mistrust ! ” 

“Tut-tut!”  and  my  father  took  my  arm  good-humor, 
edly.  “Now  thou  art  an  engaged  man,  Gaston,  thou 
must  put  thy  prejudices  in  thy  pocket.  Thou  art  too 
much  like  me  in  thy  chronic  suspicion  of  all  priestcraft, 
Remember,  this  beautiful  youth  is  not  a priest  yet,  and  I 
would  not  mind  wagering  that  he  never  will  be.” 

“ If  he  has  been  trained  for  the  priesthood,  what  else 
is  he  fit  for  ? ” I asked  rather  irritably. 

“ What  else  ? He  is  fit  for  anything,  mon  chonx  ! A 
diplomat,  a statesman,  a writer  of  astonishing  books. 
He  has  ge?iius ; and  genius  is  like  the  Greek  Proteus,  it 
can  take  all  manner  of  forms  and  be  great  in  any  one  of 
them!  Aye!”  and  my  father  nodded  his  head  saga- 
ciously. “Take  my  word  for  it,  Gaston,  there  is  some- 
thing in  this  young  man  Guidel  that  is  altogether  excep- 
tional and  remarkable;  he  is  one  of  the  world’s  inspired 
dreamers,  and  to  my  notion  he  is  more  likely  to  aid  hr 
overturning  priestcraft,  than  to  place  himself  in  its  rank; 
as  a bulwark  of  defense.” 

I murmured  something  unintelligible  by  way  of  reply  , 
my  father’s  praise  of  the  Breton  stranger  was  not  so  very 
pleasing  to  me  that  I should  wish  to  encourage  him  in  its 
continuance,  We  soon  reached  our  own  door,  and,  bid- 
ding each  other  good-night,  retired  at  once  to  rest.  But 
all  through  my  sleep  I was  haunted  by  fragments  of  the 
violin  music  played  by  Heloise  St.  Cyr,  and  scraps  of  the 
verses  she  had  recited.  At  one  time,  between  midnight 
and  morning,  I dreamt  I saw  her  standing  in  my  room, 
robed  in  a white  shroudlike  garment ; she  fixed  her  eyes 
on  mine,  and,  as  I looked,  her  lips  parted,  and  she, said, 


WORMWOOD. 


6$ 


' Elle  mourtit ! ” and  I thought  she  meant  that  Pauline 
\ <*s  dead.  Struggling  to  escape  from  the  horror  of  this 
impression,  I cried,  “ No,  no  ! she  lives  ! She  is  mine  1 ” 
and,  making  a violent  effort,  I fancied  I had  awakened, 
when  lo  ! the  curtain  at  my  window  seemed  to  move 
slowly  and  stealthily  back,  and  the  beautiful  calm  face  of 
Silvion  Guidel  stared  full  at  me,  pallidly  illumined  by  the 
moon.  Again  I started,  and  cried  out,  and  this  time 
awoke  myself  thoroughly.  I sprang  out  of  bed,  and 
t dashed  back  the  window-draperies ; I threw  open  the 
dosed  shutters ; the  night  was  one  of  sparkling  frosty 
splendor,  the  stars  twinkled  in  their  glorious  millions 
above  my  head ; there  was  not  a sound  anywhere,  not  a 
l living  soul  be  seen!  I returned  to  my  tossed  and 
5 tumbled  couch,  with  a smile  at  my  own  absurd  visionary 
fancies,  and  in  my  heart  blaming  Heloise  St.  Cyr  and  her 
weird  violin  for  having  conjured  them  up  in  my  usually 
dear  and  evenly-balanced  brain. 


6* 


I • 

WOKAlWQQa- 


% VII.  4 ' 

On  the  far  horizon  of  my  line  of  life  there  shines  a 
•waving,  ever-diminishing  gleam  of  brightness ; I know 
it  to  be  the  hazy  reflection  of  my  bygone  glad  days  and 
sweet  memories,  and  when  I shut  my  eyes  close  and 
send  my  thoughts  backward,  I am  almost  able  to  count 
those  little  dazzling  points  of  sunshine  sparkling  through 
the  gloom  that  now  encompasses  my  soul.  But  though 
brilliant  they  were  brief — brief  as  the  few  stray  flashes  of 
lightning  that  cross  the  skies  on  a hot  summer’s  evening. 
My  inward  vision  aches  to  look  at  them  ! let  them  be 
swallowed  up  in  blackness,  I 'Say,  and  let  me  never  more 
remember  that  once  I was  happy  ! For  remembrance  is 
very  bitter,  and  very  useless  as  well ; to  play  out  ^one’s 
part  bravely  in  the  world,  I have  said  one  should  have  no 
conscience ; but  it  is  far  more  necessary  to  have  no 
memory  1 Are  there  any  poor  souls  wearing  on  forhornly 
towards  the  grave  and  monotonously  performing  the 
daily  routine  of  life  without  either  heart  or  zest  in  living? 
Let  such  look  back  to  the  time  when  the  world  first 
opened  out  before  their  inexperienced  gaze  like  a brilliant: 
arena  of  fair  fortune  wherein  they  fancied  they  might  win 
the  chiefest  prize,  and  then  the)7  will  understand  the 
meaning  of  spiritual  torture ! Then  will  the  mind  be 
stretched  on  a wrenching  rack  of  thought ! then  will  the 
futile  tears  fill  the  tired  eyes,  then  will  the  passionate- 
craving  for  death  become  more  and  mere  clamorous — 
death  and  utter,  blessed  forgetfulness  ! Ah  ! if  one  could 
oniy  be  sure  that  we  do  forget  when  we  die  ! but  that  is- 
just  what  I,  for  one,  cannot  count  upon.  *The  uncer- 
tainty fills  me  with  horror ! I dare  not  allow  myself  to 
dwell  upon  the  idea  that  perhaps  I may  sink  drowmngly 
from  the  dull  shores  of  life  into  a tideless  ocean  of 
eternal  remembrance  ! I dare  not,  else  I should  indeed 
be  mad,  more  mad  than  I am  now  ! For  even  now  i am 


IVCA’MIVOOD. 


63 


haunted  by  faces  I would  fain  forget,  by  voices,  by  plead- 
ing eyes,  by  praying  hands ; and  anon,  by  stark  rigid 
forms,  dead  and  white  as  marble,  with  the  awful  frozen 
smile  of  death’s  unutterable  secret  carved  on  their  stiff 
set  lips.  And  yet  they  are  but  the  phantoms  of  my  own 
drugged  brain  ; I ought  to  know  that  by  this  time  ! Let 
me  strive  to  banish  them  ; let  me  lose  sight  of  them  for  a 
little,  while  I try  to  knot  together  the  broken  threads  of 
my  torn  Past. 

During  the  two  or  three  months  immediately  following 
my  betrothal  to  Pauline  de  Charmilles,  I think  I must 
Lave  been  the  proudest,  most  contented,  perfectly  light- 
heaitea  man  in  France.  No  cloud  marred  my  joy;  no 
bitterness  nauseated  my  cup  of  felicity.  All  things 
smiled  upon  me,  and  in  the  warm  expansion  of  my  nature 
I had  at  last  even  admitted  Silvion  Guidel  to  a share  in 
my  affections.  Truth  to  tell,  it  was  difficult  to  resist  him  ; 
his  frank  friendliness  of  behavior  towards  me  made  me 
feel  ashamed  of  my  former  captiousness  and  instinctive 
dislike  of  him,  and  by  degrees  we  became  as  close  inti- 
mates as  it  was  possible  for  two  young  men  to  be  who  were 
following  such  widely  different  professions.  He  was  a 
great  favorite  with  the  De  Charmilles,  and  was  frequently 
invited  to  their  house,  though  I was  of  course  the  more 
constant  visitor,  and  when,  after  spending  the  evening 
there,  we  took  our  leave,  we  always  walked  part  of  the 
way  home  together.  I was  particularly  pleased  with  the 
extreme  deference  and  almost  fastidious  reserve  of  his 
manner  to  Pauline ; he  seemed  rather  to  avoid  her 
than  otherwise,  and  to  consider  the  fact  of  her  engage- 
ment to  me  as  a sort  of  title  to  command  his  greater  re- 
spect. He  was  not  half  so  constrained  with  He'loise  St. 
Cyr  ; he  talked  to  her  freely,  led  her  into  arguments  on 
literature  and  music,  in  which  I was  often  astonished  to 
observe  how  brilliantly  she  shone,  lent  her  rare  old  books 
now  and  then,  and  wrote  down  for  her  from  memory  frag- 
ments of  old  Breton  songs  and  ballads,  airs  which  she 
afterwards  rendered  on  her  violin  with  surpassing  pathos 
and  skill.  One  touching  little  unrhymed  ditty,  which  she 
recited  to  her  own  improvised  accompaniment,  I re- 
member was  called  “ Le  Pauvre  Clerc,”  and  ran  as  fol- 
lows : — 


&4 


WORMWOOD. 


ei  J’ai  perdu  mes  sabots  et  dechire  mes  pauvres  pieds,. 

A suivre  ma  douce  dans  les  champs,  dans  les  boat; 

La  pluie,  le  gresil,  et  la  glace, 

Ne  sont  point  un  obstacle  a l’amour ! 

u Ma  douce  est  jeune  comme  moi, 

Elle  n’a  pas  encore  vingt  ans ; 

Elle  est  fraiche  et  jolie 
Ses  regards  sont  pleins  de  feuJ 
Ses  paroles  charmantes ! 

Elle  est  une  prison 
Oil  j’ai  enferme  mon  coeuri 

lt  Je  ne  saurais  a auoi  la  comparer; 

Sera-ce  a la  petite  rose  blanche  qu’on  appelle  Rose-ManeX 
Petite  perle  des  jeunes  filles; 

Fleur  de  lis  entre  les  fleurs  ; 

Elle  s’ouvre  aujourd’hui,  et  elle  se  fermera  demain. 

“ En  vous  faisant  la  cour,  ma  douce,  j’ai  ressemble 
Au  rossignol  perche  sur  le  rameau  d’aubepine  ' 

Quand  il  veut  s’endormir,  les  epines  le  piquent,  alore 
il  s’eleve  a la  cime  de  1‘arbre  et  se  met  a chanter! 

0 Mon  etoile  est  fatale, 

Mon  etat  est  contre  nature, 

Je  n’ai  eu  dans  ce  mon.de 

Quc  des  peines  a enuurer, 

Je  suisf  comme  une  ame  dans  les  flammes  du  ourgatcirc 
Nul  .chretien  sur  la  terre  qui  me  veuille  du  bien  i 

“ Il  n’y  a personne  qui  ait  eu  autant  a souffrir 
A votre  sujet  que  moi  depuis  ma  naissanc^  ; 

Aussi  je  vous  supplie  a deux  genoux 
Et  au  nom  de  Dieu  d’avoir  pitie  de  votre  clerc ! ” 

It  was  exceedingly  simple  and  yet  peculiarly  mournful^, 
so  much  so,  that  the  first  time  we  heard  Heloise’s  render- 
ing of  it,  I saw,  somewhat  to  my  concern,  big  tears  well- 
ing up  in  my  pretty  Pauline’s  eyes  and  falling  one  by  one 
on  her  clasped  hands.  Guidel  was  standing  near  her  at 
the  time,  and  he  too  seemed  sincerely  troubled  by  her 
emotion.  Bending  towards  her,  he  said,  with  a faint 
smile- — 

“Are  you  crying  for  4 le  pauvre  clerc,’  mademoiselle? 
Surely  he  is  not  worth  such  tears  ! ” 

I smiled  also,  and  took  my  betrothed’s  unresisting 
hand  tenderly  in  my  own. 

“ She  is  very  sensitive,”  I said  gently.  44  She  is  a little 
angel-harp  that  responds  sympathetically  to  everything.” 


WORMWOOD. 


65. 

But  here  Famine  hastily  dried  her  eyes,  pressed  my 
hand,  and  went  quietly  away,  and  when  she  came  back 
again,  she  was  radiant  and  bright  as  ever. 

The  Feast  of  Noel  and  the  gay  Jour  de  V An  had  been 
marked  to  Pauline  by  the  very  large  number  of  valuable 
presents  and  floral  souvenirs  she  received.  All  her 
friends  knew  she  was  “ fiancee,”  and  countless  congrat- 
ulations and  “ etrennes  ” were  poured  upon  her.  But  she 
had  grown  either  slightly  blasee  or  philosophical,  for  she 
evinced  none  of  her  former  childlike  delight  at  the  big 
baskets  and  boxes  of  bonbons  given  to  her ; even  a goodly 
round  hamper  of  gilded  wicker-work,  wreathed  with  vio- 
lets and  packed  close  with  her  once  adored  ~ marrons 
glacees,”  failed  to  excite  her  to  any  great  entlwsiaaru 
On  the  morning  of  th ^ Jour  de  V An^  I had  sent  her  a 
fancifully-designed  osier  gondola  full  of  roses  and  a 
necklace  of  pearls ; and  of  all  her  gifts  this  had  seemed 
to  please  her  most,  much  to  my  delight.  Silvion  Guidcl 
had  contented  himself  with  simply  wishing  her  happiness 
in  his  usual  serious  and  earnest  fashion,  and  for  the  New 
Year  he  had  offered  her  no  token  save  a large  and  spot- 
less cluster  of  the  lilies  of  St.  John.  She  had  shown  me 
these,  with  rather  a wistful  look,  so  I fancied,  and  had 
asked  me  whether  it  would  not  be  well  to  place  them  in  a 
vase  near  the  Virgin’s  statue  in  her  own  little  private  ora- 
tory ? I agreed ; I never  attached  importance  to  the  girl- 
ishly romantic  notions  I knew  she  had  on  the  subject  of 
religion ; in  fact,  I thought  with  her,  that  such  pure, 
white,  sacred-looking  blossoms  were  much  more  fitted  for 
an  altar  than  a drawing-room.  And  so  she  put  them 
there,  and  I encouraged  and  approved  the  act — like  a 
fool ! Those  lilies  were  allowed  to  occupy  the  most 
honored  place  in  her  sleeping-chamber, — to  send  out  , 
their  odors  to  mingle  with  every  breath  she  drew — to  ^ 
instill  their  insidious  message  through  her  maiden  f 
dreams  ! Ah  God  ! if  I had  only  known  ! 

With  the  passing  of  the  worst  part  of  winter,  just 
towards  the  close  of  March,  He'loise  St.  Cyr  was  sum- 
moned to  see  her  mother,  who  was  thought  to  be  danger- 
ously ill.  The  night  before  she  left  for  Normandy,  I was 
spending  a couple  of  hours  at  the  De  Charmilles’ — there 
was  no  visitor  that  evening  there  but  myself,  and  I was 
now  accounted  almost  one  of  the  family.  I thought  she 
5 


66 


WORMWOOD. 


looked  very  weary  and  anxious,  but  attributed  this  solely 
to  the  bad  news  she  had  received  from  her  native  home. 
I was  therefore  rather  surprised,  when,  taking  advantage 
of  Pauline’s  absence  from  the  room  for  a few  moments, 
she  came  hurriedly  up  to  me  and  sat  down  by  my  side. 

“ I want  to  speak  to  you,  Monsieur  Gaston,”  she  said, 
with  an  odd  hesitation  and  fluttered  nervousness  of  man- 
ner. “You  cannot  imagine  how  unhappy  I am  at  being 
obliged  to  leave  Pauline  just  now!  ” 

“ Indeed,  I can  quite  understand  it  ! ” I replied 
quickly,  for  I entirely  sympathized  in  such  a grief,  which 
to  me  would  have  been  insupportable.  “ But  let  us  hope 
you  will  not  be  absent  long.” 

“ I hope  not — I fervently  hope  not ! ” she  murmured, 
her  voice  trembling  a little.  “ But,  M.  Gaston,  you  will 
not  let  Pauline  be  too  much  alone  ? You  will  visit  her 
every  day,  and  see  her  as  often  as  possible  ? ” 

I smiled.  “You  may  rely  upon  that!”  I answered. 
“ Do  not  be  afraid,  I leloise  ! for  I called  her  Heloi'se 
now,  as  the  others  did — “ I am  not  likely  to  neglect  her  ! ” 
“ No,  of  course  not ! ” she  shid,  in  the  same  low  nervous 
accents.  “ Yet,  she  is  not  quite  herself  just  now,  I fancy, 
a little  morbid  perhaps  and  unstrung.  She  often  sheds 
{ears  for — for  nothing,  you  know,  and  I think  she  gives 
way  to  too  much  religion.  Oh,  you  laugh  ! ” for  I had 
been  unable  to  resist  a smile  at  this  suggestion  of  my 
little  darling’s  excess  of  devotion.  I knew  the  reason,  I 
thought ! sli2  was  praying  for  me  ! “ But  I do  not  think 

it  is  natural  in  one  so  young,  and  I would  give  anything 
to  be  able  to  stay  with  her,  and  watch  over  her  a little, 
instead  of  going  to  Normandy  ! She  used  not  to  be  so 
over-particular  about  her  religious  duties — and  now  she 
never  misses  early  mass,  she  is  up  and  out  of  doors  while 
I am  yet  asleep,  and  she  is  quite  cross  if  we  try  to  keep 
her  away  from  Benediction.  And  it  is  not  necessary  for 
her  to  attend  M.  Vaudron’s  church  always , do  you  think 
so  ? ” 

She  looked  full  at  me  ; but  I could  perceive  no  under- 
drift of  meaning  in  her  words.  To  my  mind  everything 
Pauline  did  or  chose  to  do  was  perfection. 

“ She  is  fond  of  good  old  Vaudron,”  I replied;  “we 
are  all  fond  of  him,  and  if  you  ask  me  frankly,  I think 
I would  rather  she  went  to  his  church  than  to  any  other. 


K 


WORMWOOD. 


6T 

You  are  over-anxious,  Heloise — the  news  of  your  mother’s 
illness  has  quite  unstrung  you.  Don’t  be  nervous  ^ 
Pauline  is  the  idol  of  our  hearts  ; we  shall  all  take  extra 
care  of«  her  while  you  are  absent.” 

“ ^ hope  you  will  take  extra  care  ! ” she  said,  with 
strange,  almost  passionate  earnestness.  “ I pray  to  my 
God  you  will ! ” 

Her  words  impressed  me  very  unpleasantly  for  the 
moment  ; what  an  uncomfortable  creature  she  was  I 
thought,  with  her  great,  flashing  gray-green  eyes,  and  pale 
classic  features,  on  which  the  light  of  a'  burning  inward 
genius  sent  a weird  unearthly  glow  l Just  then  Pauline 
came  back,  so  she  broke  off  her  conversation  with  me 
abruptly,  and  on  the  following  morning  she  had  gone. 

Some  few  days  after  her  departure  I jestingly  broached 
the  subject  of  this  “ too  much  religion  ” to  my  young 
fiancee . 

“ So  you  go  to  mass  every  morning,  like  a good  little 
girl  ? ” I said  merrily,  twisting  one  of  her  rich  brown  curls 
round  my  finger  as  I spoke. 

She  started.  “ How  did  you  know  that  ? ” 

“ Heloise  told  me,  before  she  went  away.  Why,  you 
don’t  mind  my  knowing  it,  do  you  ? It  is  very  right  of 
you  and  very  proper  ; but  doesn’t  it  make  you  get  up  too 
early  ? ” , 

“ No  ; I never  sleep  much  after  daybreak,”  she  an- 
swered, her  face  flushing  a little. 

“ Like  the  daisy,  awake  at  sunrise  !”  I said  laughingly. 
“Well,  I must  reform,  and  be  good  too.  Shall  I meet 
you  at  church  to-morrow,  for  instance?” 

“ If  you  wish  ! ” she  replied  quietly. 

She  was  so  very  serious  about  it  that  I di,d  not  like  to 
pursue  the  question  further  ; some  of  her  parents’  relig- 
ious scruples  were  no  doubt  her  heritage,  I thought,  and 
I had  no  inclination  to  offend  them  by  any  undue  levity. 
, Religion  is  becoming  to  a woman  : — a beautiful  girl  pray- 
ing is  the  only  idea  the  world  can  give  of  what  God’s 
angels  may  be.  The  morrow  came,  and  I did  not  go  to 
church  as  I had  intended,  having  overslept  myself.  But 
in  che  course  of  the  day,  I happened  to  meet  M.  Vau- 
dron,  and  to  him  I mentioned  Pauline’s  regular  attend- 
ance at  his  early  mass.  The  good  man’s  brow  clouded, 
and  he  looked  exceedingly  puzzled, 


«8 


WO  KM  WO  OD. 


‘‘That  is  strange!  very  strange  ! ” he  remarked  musingly. 
“ 1 must  be  getting  very  short-sighted,  or  else  the  dear 
child  must  keep  very  much  in  the  background  of  the 
church,  for  I never  see  her  except  on  Sundays,  when  she 
comes*  with  her  father  and  mother.  Early  mass,  you  say? 
There  are  several ; the  first  one  is  at  six  o’clock,  when  my 
nephew  assists  me  as  deacon  ; the  next  at  seven,  when  I 
have  the  usual  attendant  to  help  me  officiate,  for  at  that 
time  Silvion  goes  for  a long  walk,  he  is  accustomed  to  a 
great  deal  of  exercise  in  Brittany,  and  he  does  not  get 
enough  of  it  here.  It  must  be  at  seven  that  the  pretty 
one  slips  in  to  pray;  she  would  hardly  come  earlier.  Ah 
well ; it  is  easy  for  my  old  eyes  to  miss  her  then,  for  my 
sacred  duties  take  up  all  my  attention.  She  is  a good 
child,  a sweet  and  virtuous  one  ; thou  shouldst  be  very 
proud  of  her,  Gaston  ! ” 

“ And  am  I not  so  ? ” I responded  laughingly.  “ I 
should  love  her  and  be  proud  of  her,  even — do  not  be 
shocked,  mon  pere! — even  if  she  never  went  to  mass  at  all  ! ” 

He  shook  his  head  with  much  pious  severity  at  this  au- 
dacious declaration,  but  could  not  quite  repress  a kindly 
smile  all  the  same ; then  we  shook  hands  cordially  and 
parted.  * / 

The  next  day  I did  manage  to  rouse  myself  in  time  for  the 
seven  o’clock  mass,  and  I arrived  at  the  little  church  in  a 
pleasurable  state  of  excitement,  thinking  what  a surprise 
my  appearance  would  be  to  Pauline.  To  my  intense  dis- 
appointment, however,  she  was  not  there  ! There  were 
very  few  people  present,  two  or  three  market-women  and 
an  old  widow  in  the  deepest  mourning  being  the  most 
conspicuous  members  of  the  congregation.  Immediately 
after  the  Elevation  of  the  Host,  I slipped  out,  and,  hurry- 
ing home,  wrote  a little  note  to  my  truant  betrothed,  tell- 
ing her  how  I had  been  to  mass  hoping  to  meet  her,  and 
how  I had  missed  her  after  all.  Later  in  the  day  I called 
to  see  her,  and  found  her  in  one  of  her  radiant  laughing" 
moods. 

“ Pauvre  gar$on  /”  she  playfully  exclaimed,  throwing 
her  arms  about  me.  66  What  a dreadful  thing  for  thee  to 
have  risen  so  early,  all  for  nothing  ! I did  not  go  to 
church  at  all  ; I stayed  in  bed,  for  I was  sleepy ; in  fact.  T 
am  getting  very  lazy  again,  and  once  lazy,  helas  ! I t hcL 
cease  to  be  religious  ! ” 


WORMWOOD . 


69 

She  sighed,  and  assumed  a demurely  penitent  air ; I 
laughed,  and  kissed  her,  and  soon,  in  the  charm  of  her 
conversation  and  the  fascination  of  her  company,  forgot 
my  little  disappointment  of  the  morning.  When  I left 
her,  I was  convinced  that  her  fancy  for  attending  early 
mass  regularly  had  passed,  like  all  the  passing  fancies  of 
a very  young  imaginative  girl,  and  I thought  no  more 
about  the  matter. 

Just  about  this  time  my  father  was  suddenly  compelled 
to  go  to  London  on  business  connected  with  certain  large 
financial  speculations,  in  Which  our  firm  was  concerned, 
both  for  ourselves  and  others.  He  calculated  on  being* 
absent  about  a fortnight  or  three  weeks,  with  the  natural 
and  inevitable  result,  that,  while  he  was  away,  all  the  work  of 
superintending  our  Paris  banking-house  fell  entirely  on  my 
hands.  I was  busy  from  morning  until  night ; I had  in- 
deed so  little  leisure  of  my  own,  that  I could  seldom 
spare  more  than  the  Sunday  afternoon  and  evening  for  the 
uninterrupted  enjoyment  of  Pauline’s  society.  I had  such 
rare  and  brief  glimpses  of  her  that  I was  quite  restless 
and  wretched  about  it ; the  more  so,  as  Heloise  St.  Cyr’s 
parting  words  often  recurred  to  me  with  uncomfortable  per- 
sistency ; but  nevertheless,  my  work  had  to  be  done,  an d> 
after  all,  each  time  I did  visit  my  beautiful  betrothed,  I 
found  her  in  such  blithe,  almost  wild  spirits,  and  always 
looking  so  lovely  and  brilliant,  that  I blamed  myself  for 
giving  way  to  any  anxiety  on  her  behalf.  Besides,  we 
were  to  be  married  at  the  beginning  of  June,  and  it  was 
now  close  on  the  end  of  April.  The  Comtesse  de  Char- 
milles  was  pleasantly  occupied  with  the  ordering  and  pre- 
paring of  the  marriage  trousseaux,  and  a few  stray  wed- 
ding-gifts had  already  arrived.  I was  mounting  securely 
upwards  to  the  very  summit  of  joy,  so  I thought  ! I little 
imagined  I was  on  the  brink  of  ruin  ! 

During  this  period  I saw  a great  deal  of  Silvion 
Guidel.  He  used  to  call  for  me  at  our  bank  of  an  after- 
noon and  walk  home  with  me,  and  as  I was  rather  lonely 
in  the  big  old  house  at  Neuilly,  now  that  my  father  was 
absent,  he  would  give  me  many  an  occasional  hour  of  his 
company,  talking  on  various  subjects  such  as  he  knew 
were  interesting  to  my  particular  turn  of  mind.  He  had 
the  most  vivid  and  intellectual  comprehension  of  art, 
science,  and  literature,  and  his  conversation  had  always. 


<7o  WORMWOOD. 

that  brilliancy  and  point  which  makes  spoken  language 
almost  as  fascinating  as  the  neatly  turned  and  witty 
phrases  written  by  some  author,  whose  style  is  his  chief 
charm.  And  sometimes,  when  I was  obliged  to  turn  to 
my  work  and  absorb  myself  in  hard  and  dry  calculations, 
Guidel  would  still  remain  with  me,  quite  silent^  sitting  in 
a chair  near  the  window,  his  head  leaning  back,  and  his 
eyes  fixed  dreamily  on  the  delicate  spring-time  leafage 
of  the  trees  outside.  I would  often  glance  up  and  see 
him  thus,  gravely  engrossed  in  his  own  thoughts,  with 
that  serious  musing  smile  on  his  lips,  that  was  like  the 
smile  of  some  youthful  poet  who  contemplates  ho\v  to 
•evolve 

“ Beautiful  things  made  new 
For.  the  delight  of  the  sky-children  ! ” * 

And,  worst  confession  of  all,  I think,  that  I have  to 
make,  I learnt  to  love  him  ! I — even  I ! A peculiar 
sense  of  revering  tenderness  stirred  me  whenever  he, 
with  his  beautiful  calm  face  and  saintly  expression,  came 
into  the  room  where  I sat  alone,  fagged  out  with  the 
day’s  labor,  and  laying  his  two  hands  affectionately  on 
my  shoulders,  said — 

“ Still  working  hard,  Beauvais  ! What  a thing  it  is  to 
be  so  absolutely  conscientious  ! Rest,  mon  ami  ! rest  a 
little,  if  not  for  your  own  sake,  then  for  the  sake  of  your 
fair ftanrte,  who  will  grieve  to  see  you  over-wearied  1 ” 

I used  to  feel  quite  touched  by  such  friendly  solicitude 
on  his  part,  and  not  only  touched,  but  grateful  as  well, 
for  the  ready  manner  in  which  he  seemed  at  once  to 
comprehend  and  enter  into  my  feelings.  I was  a sen- 
sitive sort  of  fellow  in  those  days,  quick  to  respond  to 
kindness  and  equally  quick  to  resent  injustice..  But  it 
was  I who  had  been  unjust  in  the  case  of  Silvion  Gqidel, 
I thought ; I had  disliked  him  at  first  without  any  cause, 
and  now  I frequently  reproached  myself  for  this,  and 
wondered  how  I could  ever  have  been  so  unreasonable  ! 
Yet,  though  first  impressions  are  sometimes  erroneous,  1 
believe  there  is  a%  balance  in  favor  of  their  correctness. 
If  a singular  antipathy  seizes  you  for  a particular  person 
at  first  sight,  no  matter  how  foolish  it  may  seem,  you  may 
be  almost  sure  that  there  is  something  in  your  two 

* Keats. 


WORMWOOD. 


7* 


natures  that  is  destined  to  remain  in  constant  opposition. 
You  may  conquer  it  for  a time,  it  may  even  change, 
as  it  did  in  my  case,  to  profound  affection  ; but,  sooner 
or  later,  it  will  spring  up  again  with  tenfold  strength  and 
deadliness ; the  reason  of  your  first  aversion  will  be  made 
painfully  manifest,  and  the  end  of  it  all  will  be  doubly 
bitter  because  of  the  love  that  for  a brief  while  sweetened 
it.  I say  I loved  Silvion  Guidel  ! and  in  proportion  to 
the  sincerity  of  that  love,  I afterwards  measured  the 
intensity  of  my  hate  ! 


73 


Wukal  trvonk 


VIII. 

A brilliant  May  had  begun  in  Paris,  the  foiiage  was 
all  in  its  young  beauty  of  pale-green  sprouting  leaf,  the 
Champs  Elysees  were  bright  with  flowers,  and  the  gay 
city  looked  its  loveliest.  My  father  was  still  delayed  by 
his  affairs  in-  England  ; but  I knew  he  would  not  remain 
away  much  longer  now,  as  he  was  good-naturedly  anxious 
to  relieve  me  of  some  of  the  more  onerous  cares  of  busi- 
ness before  the  time  for  my  marriage  came  too  close  at 
hand.  He'loi'se  St.  Cyr  was  also  expected  back  daily  ; 
her  mother  had  recovered,  and  she  had,  therefore, 
nothing  to  detain  her  l ny  longer  in  Normandy.  Pauline 
told  me  this  news,  and  I noticed  that  she  did  not  seem 
at  all  over-enthusiastic  concerning  her  cousin's  retur^i. 
Like  a fool,  I flattered  myself  that  this  was  because  / 
had  now  become  the  first  in  her  affections,  and  that,  as  a 
perfectly  natural  consequence,  the  once-adored  Heloi'se 
was  bound  to  occupy  a lower  and  vastly  inferior  place. 
I was  full  of  my  own  joy,  my  own  triumph,  and  I was 
blind  to  anything  else  but  these.  True,  I did  remark  on 
one  or  two  occasions,  during  my  visits  to  her,  that  my 
fiancee  was  sometimes  not  quite  so  brilliant  as  usual  ; 
that  there  was  a certain  ^transparency  and  ethereal  del-, 
icacy  about  her  features  that  was  suggestive  of  hidden 
suffering  ; that  her  deep  blue  eyes  seemed  larger  than 
they  used  to  be — larger,  darker,  and  more  intense  in 
their  wistful  ness  of  expression  ; that  now  and  then  her 
lips  quivered  pathetically  when  I kissed  her,  and  that 
there  were  moments  when  she  appeared  to  be  on  the 
verge  of  tears.  But  I attributed  all  these  signs  of  sub- 
dued emotion  to  the  nervous  excitement  a young  girl 
would  naturally  feel  at  the  swift  hourly  approach  of  her 
marriage-day.  I knew  she  was  ‘exceedingly  sensitive, 
and  for  this  reason  I rather  looked  forward  to  the  return 
of  H^loise,  as  1 felt  certain  that  she,  with  her  womanly 


WORMWOOD . 


73 


tact,  quiet  ways,  and  strong  tenderness  for  Pauline 
would,  by  her  very  presence  in  the  house,  do  much  to 
soothe  my  little  betrothed’s  highly-strung  and  over- 
wrought condition,  and  would  also  take  a great  deal  of 
the  fatigue  of  preparation  for  the  wedding  off  her  hands. 
Still,  I did  not  really  think  very  deeply  about  it  any 
way,  and  I was  rather  taken  by  surprise  one  afternoon, 
when,  on  calling  to  leave  some  flowers  for  Pauline  en 
passant , the  servant  begged  m®  to  enter  and  wait  in  the 
drawing-room  for  a few  minutes,  as  the  Comtesse  de 
Charmilles  had  expressed  a particular  wish  to  see  me 
alone  on  a matter  of  importance.  I crossed  the  familiar 
threshold  I remember  that  day  with  a strange  dull  sen- 
sation at  my  heart ; and  as  the  doors  of  the  great  salon 
were  thrown  open  for  me,  a shiver  seized  me  as  though  it 
were  winter  instead  of  spring.  The  room  looked  bare 
and  blank  in  spite  of  its  rich  furniture  and  adornment. 
No  Pauline  came  tripping  in  to  greet  me,  and  I stood, 
hat  in  hand,  leaning  against  the  edge  of  the  grand  piano, 
gazing  blankly  through  the  window  and  wondering  fool- 
ishly to  myself  why  the  gardener,  usually  so  neat,  had  left 
a heap  of  the  past  winter’s  dead  leaves  in  one  corner  of 
the  outside  gravel-path  ! There  they  vrere,  an  ugly  brown 
pile  of  them  ; and  every  now  and  then  the  light  May 
wind  fluttered  them,  blowing  two  or  three  off  to  whirl  like 
dark  blots  against  the  clear  blue  sky.  I was  still  monot- 
onously meditating  on  this  trifle,  and  comparing  those 
swept-up  emblems  of  decay  with  the  clustre  of  rich  dewy 
red  roses  I had  just  brought  for  my  fiancee , and  which  I 
had  laid  carefully  down  on  a side  table  near  me,  when 
the  door  wTas  opened  softly  and  closed  again  with  equal 
care,  and  the  Comtesse  de  Charmilles  approached.  She 
looked  worn  and  anxious,  and  there  was  a puzzled  pain 
and  sorrow  in  her  eyes  that  filled  me  with  alarm.  I 
caught  my  breath. 

“ Pauline — is  she  ill  ? ” I faltered,  dreading  I knew 
not  w'hat. 

“ She  is  not  well,”  began  the  Comtesse  gently,  then 
paused. 

My  heart  beat  Violently. 

“ It  is  something  dangerous  ? You  have  sent  for  a 

physician  ? You ” Here  my  attempted  self-control 

gave  way,  and  I exclaimed,  “ Let  me  see  her  ! I must — 


WORMWOOD. 


U 

I will ! Madame,  I have  the  right  to  see  her  ! Why  do 
you  hinder  me?”  4 

The  Comtesse  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm  in  a pacifying 
manner,  and  smiled  a little  forcedly. 

“ Be  tranquil,  Gaston.  There  is  nothing  serious  the 
matter.  To-day,  it  is  true,  she  is  not  well ; she  has  been 
weeping  violently,  pauvre  enfant ! — such  tears  ! ” — and 
the  mother’s  voice  quivered  slightly  as  she  spoke — “ I 
have  asked  her  a hundred  times  the  cause  of  her  distress, 
and  she  assures  me  it  is  nothing — always  nothing.  But  I 
think  there  must  be  some  reason  ; she,  who  is  generally 
so  bright  and  happy,  would  scarcely  weep  so  long  and 
piteously  without  cause, — and  this  is  why  I wished  to 
speak  to  you,  mon  f/s, — to  ask  you, — is  the  love  between 
you  both  as  great  as  ever  ? ” 

I stared  at  her  amazed.  What  a silly  woman  she  was, 
I thought,  to  make  such  an  odd  and  altogether  un- 
necessary inquiry ! 

“ Most  assuredly  it  is,  madame  ! ” I replied,  with  em- 
phatic earnestness.  “ It  is  even  greater  on  my  part,  and 
of  her  tenderness  I have  never  had  a moment’s  occasion 
to  doubt.  That  she  sheds  tears  at  all  is  of  itself  dis- 
tressing news  to  me, — but  nevertheless,  it  is  true  that 
girls  will  often  weep  for  nothing,  especially  when  they  are 
a little  over-strung  and  unduly  excited,  as  Pauline  may  be 
at  the  present  time.  She  probably  reflects,  with  a very 
natural  regret,  for  which  I should  be  the  last  to  blame 
her, — that  very  soon  she  will  have  to  leave  home 
and  your  fostering  care  ; — the  change  from  girlhood  to 
marriage  is  a very  serious  one,— and  being  sensitive, 
she  has  perhaps  thought  more  deeply  about  it  than  we 
imagine  ” — here  I paused,  embarrassed  and  concerned, 
for  I saw  two  big  drops  roll  slowly  down  the  mother’s . 
cheeks,  and  glisten  in  the  folds  of  her  rich  silk  robe. 

“Yes,  it  may  be  that,” — she  said,  in  low  tremulous 
accents.  “ I have  thought  so  myself ; — yet  every  now 
and  then  I have  had  the  idea — a very  foolish  one  no 
doubt, — that  perhaps  the  child  is  secretly  unhappy  ! But 
if  you  assure  me  that  all  is  well  hetween^you,  then  I must 
be  mistaken.  Pardon  my  anxiety  ! ” and  she  extended 
her  hand,  which  I took  and  kissed  respectfully — “ we 
have  all  had  too  much  to  do,  I fancy,  while  our  dear 
Heloise  has  been  away,  and  ” — here  she  smiled  more 


WORMWOOD. 


75 


readily — “ it  is  possible  we  are  all  morbid  in  consequence  1 
At  any  rate,  nekt  time  you  are  alone  with  Pauline,  will 
you  ask  her  to  confide  in  you,  if  indeed  there  is  anything 
vexing  her  usually  sweet  and  serene  nature  ? Some  mere 
trifle  may  have  put  her  out, — a trifle  exaggerated  by  her 
fancy,  which  we,  knowing  of,  may  be  able  to  set  right  in- 
stantly— and  surely  that  would  be  well  ! ” 

The  generally  dignified  and  rather  austere  looking  lady 
was  quite  softened  into  plaintiveness  by  her  eager  and 
tender  maternal  solicitude,  and.  I admired  her  for  it 
Kissing  her  hand  again,  I promised  to  do  as  she  asked. 

“ But  cannot  I see  Pauline  to-day  ? ” I inquired. 

“ No,  Gaston, — it  is  better  not ! ” she  answered.  “ The 
poor  little  thing  is  quite  worn  out  with  crying, — she  is 
exhausted,  and  is  now  upon  her  bed  asleep.  I will  give 
her  those  roses  when  she  wakes, — they  are  for  her,  are 
they  not  ? ” 

I assented  eagerly,  and  brought  them  to  her, — she  took 
them  and  bade  me  “ au  revoir  ! ” 

“ To-morrow  come  and  see  Pauline/’  she  said.  “ I will 
tell  her  to  expect  thee.  We  will  prepare  a pretty  ‘ the  k 
I’Anglaise’  in  the  little  morning-room, — and  thou  wilt  be 
able  to  discover  the  cause  of  her  trouble.” 

“If  there  is  any  trouble  ! ” I rejoined,  half-smiling. 
“True  ! If  there  is!  If  there  is  not,  then  thou  must 
tell  her  she  is  a foolish  little  girl,  and  frightens  us  all 
without  reason.  A demain  !” 

Carefully  carrying  the  roses  I had  brought,  she  left  the 
room  with  a kindly  nod  of  farewell, — and  I went  home  to 
get  through  some  work  I was  bound  to  finish  before  the 
next  morning.  I found  Silvion  Guidel  awaiting  me,  and 
I hailed  his  presence  with  a sense  of  relief,  for  my  own 
thoughts  harassed  me ; and,  just  to  unburden  my  mind, 
I told  him  all  about  Pauline  and  her  tears.  He  moved 
away  to  the  window  while  I was  speaking — we  were  in  my 
father’s  library — and  looked  out  at  the  trees  in  front  of 
the  house.  As  he  had  deliberately  turned  his  back  to 
me,  I took  his  action  as  a sign  of  indifference. 

“ Are  you  listening?”  I asked,  with  some  testiness. 
“Listening?  With  both  ears  and  with  the  very  spirit 
of  attention  ! ” he  replied,  changing  his  attitude  abruptly 
and  confronting  me.  “ What  the  devil  would  you  have 
me  do  ? ” 


?6 


WORMWOOD. 


I almost  bounced  out  of  my  chair,  so  startled  was  I at 
this  sort  of  language  from  his  lips!  Meeting  my  sur- 
prised gaze,  h6  laughed  aloud, — a ringing  laugh  which, 
though  clear,  seemed  to  me  to  have  a touch  of  wildness 
in  it.  * 

“ Don’t  look  so  thunderstruck,  Beauvais  ! I said,  * the 
devil  ’ ! — and  why  should  I not  say  it  ? The  devil  is  as 
important  a personage  as  the  Creator  in  our  perpetual 
Divina  Commedia.  The  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil ! 
Three  good  things,  Beauvais  ! — three  positively  existent 
tempting  things  !— no  chimeras  ! — three  flghtable  enemies 
that  we  have  to  wrestle  with  and  grapple  at  the  throats  of 
till  we  get  them  down  under  our  feet  and  kill  them  ! — 
aye,  even  if  we  kill  ourselves  in1  the  struggle ! The 
world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil ! Mon  Dieu  ! I wonder 
which  is  the  strongest  of  the  three  ! ” 

I could  not  answer  him  for  a moment,  I was  so  com- 
pletely taken  aback  by  his  strange  manner.  The  soft 
gray  light  of  the  deepening  dusk  fell  on  his  face,  min- 
gling with  the  warmer  glow  of  the  shaded  lamp  above  our 
heads, — and  I saw  to  my  wonder  and  concern  that  he 
looked  as  if  he  were  undergoing  some  poignant  physical 
sufferings, — that  there  were  dark  lines  under  his  eyes, — 
and  that  there  was  a preternaturally  brilliant  flush  on 
his  cheeks  which  seemed  to  me  to  denote  fever. 

“ Do  you  know,  Guidel,  you  are  talking  very  oddly  ? ” 
I said  at  last,  watching  him  narrowly.,  “You  are  not 
yourself  at  all ! What’s  the  matter  ? Are  you  ill  ? ” 

“ 111  ? Ma  foi  ! — not  I ! I am  well,  mon  ami , — well, 
and  in  astonishingly  cheerful  spirits ! Don’t  you  see 
that  I am  ? Don’t  you  see  that  I am  almost  too  merry 
for — for  a priest  ? Listen,  Beauvais  ! ” — and,  approach- 
ing me,  he  laid  his  two  hands  on  my  shoulders, — such 
burning  hands  ! — I felt  more  than  ever  certain  that  he 
must  be  going  to  have  some  feverish  malady — “ I have  a 
secret ! — and  I will  confide  it  to  you  ! It  is  this, — Paris 
is  making  a fool  of  me  ! I have  got  the  city’s  madness 
into  my  veins  ! — I am  learning  to  love  light  and  color 
and  gay  music  and  song  and  dance, — and  the  wildly 
beautiful  eyes  of  women  ! — eyes  that  are  blue  and 
passionate  and  pleading  and  that  make  one’s  heart  ache 
for  unuttered  and  unutterable  joys  ! You  stare  at  me 
amazed  ! — but  is  uiere  anything  so  wonderful  in  the  fact 


WORMWOOD . 


1 7 

that  I, — young,  strong,  and  full  of  life — should  all  at  once 
feel  myself  turning  renegade  to  the  vocation  I have  been 
trained  to  adopt  ? \ Do  you  know — can  you  imagine, 
Beauvais,  what  it  is  to  be  a priest  ? — to  meditate  on 
things  that  human  sight  can  never  see,  arid  human  ears 
never  hear, — to  shut  oneself  out  utterly  from  the  sweet 
ways  of  the  less  devout  existence, — to  consecrate  one’s 
entire  body  and  soul  to  a vast  Invisible  that  never 
speaks,  that  never  answers,  that  gives  no  sign  of  either 
refusal  or  acquiescence  to  the  most  passionate  prayers,  to 
resign  a thousand  actual  joys  for  the  far-off  dream  of 
heaven, — to  sternly  put  away  the  touch  of  loving  lips,  the 
clasp  of  loving  hands, — to  cut  all  natural  affections  down 
at  one  blow,  as  a reaper  cuts  a sheaf  of  corn, — to 
become  a human  tomb  for  one’s  own  buried  soul, — to  die 
to  the  world  and  to  live  for  God  ! But, — the  world  is 
here,  Beauvais  !— and  God  is — Where  ? ” 

His  words  touched  me  most  profoundly, — I understood 
— or  I thought  I understood — his  condition  of  mind,  and 
I certainly  could  not  deem  it  unnatural.  A man  such  as 
he  was,  not  only  in  the  early  prime  of  life,  but  gifted  with 
rare  intellectual  ability,  far  above  the  ordinary  calibre, 
needs  must  wake  up  at  one  time  or  another  to  the  fact 
that  the  vocation  of  priest  was  at  its  best  but  a mel- 
ancholy and  limited  career.  So  this  was  what  troubled 
him  ! — this  was  the  chagrin  that  secretly  fretted  his  soul, 
and  gave  this  touch  of  wildness  to  his  behavior  ! I 
hastened  to  sympathize  with  him ; — and,  taking  his  hands 
from  my  shoulders,  pressed  them  cordially  in  my  own. 

“ Mon  cher , if  these  are  your  real  feelings  on  the  sub- 
ject ” — I said  earnestly — “ why  not  make  a frank  con- 
fession of  them,  not  only  to  me,  but  to  everybody  con- 
cerned? Your  uncle,  for  instance,  is  far  too  sensible  and 
broad-minded  a man  to  wish  to  persuade  you  into  the 
Church  against  your  true  inclinations, — and  if  Paris  has, 
as  you  say,  worked  a change  in  you,  depend  upon  it,  it  is 
all  for  the  best ! You  are  destined  for  greater  things 
than  the  preaching  of  old  doctrines  to  people,  who,  in 
these  days  of  advanced  thought,  will,  no  matter  how 
eloquent  you  are,  never  believe  half  of  what  you  say. 
Shake  off  your  shackles,  Guidel,  and  be  a free  man  ; — 
shape  your  own  future  ! — with  such  splendid  capabilities 
.a.s  yours,  it  needs  must  be  a fair  and  prosperous'  on^ ! ” 


78 


WORMWOOD. 


He  looked  at  me  steadily  and  smiled. 

“ You  are  very  kind,  Beauvais  ! ” he  said  softly — “ as 
kind  and  good  a fellow  as  ever  I h&ve  met ! I wish— I 
wish  to  God  I had  your  cleanness  of  conscience  ! ” 

I was  a little  puzzled  at  this  remark.  Had  he  been 
frequenting  low  company,  and  disporting  himself  with  the 
painted  harridans  in  the  common  dancing-saloons  of 
Paris  ? — and  was  he  tormenting  himself  with  scruples  born 
of  his  strict  education  and  religious  discipline  ? What- 
ever the  reason,  it  was  evident  he  was  very  ill  at  ease. 
Suddenly,  as  though  making  a resolved  end  of  his  mental 
perplexity,  he  exclaimed — 

“ Bah  ! what  nonsense  I have  been  talking ! It  is  a 
foolish  frenzy  that  has  seized  me,  Beauvais, — nothing 
more ! I must  be  a priest ! — I look  it,  so  people  say ; 
— my  mother  has  set  her  heart  upon  it, — my  father  stakes 
his  eternal  welfare  on  my  sanctification  ! — the  prior  of 
St.  Xavier’s  at  Rennes  has  written  of  me  to  the  Holy 
Father  as  one  of  the  most  promising  scions  of  the  Church  ; 
— all  this  preparation  must  not  go  for  naught,  mon  ami ! 
If  I know  myself  to  be  a whited  sepulchre,  what  then  ? 
There  are  many  like  me, — what  should  I do  with  a 
conscience  ? ” 

These  words  pained  me  infinitely. 

“ Guidel,  you  are  indeed  much  changed  ! ” I said, 
rather  reproachfully — “ I cannot  bear  to  hear  you  talk  in 
this  reckless  fashion ! Priest  or  no  priest,  be  faithful  to 
whatever  principles  you  finally  take  up.  If  you  can 
believe  in  nothing,  why,  then,  believe  in  nothing  stead- 
fastly to  the  end, — if,  on  the  contrary,  you  elect  to  fasten 
your  faith  to  something,  then  win  the  respect  of  every  one 
as  our  good  Pere  Vaudron  does,  by  clinging  to  that  some- 
thing till  death  relaxes  your  hold  of  it.  No  matter 
what  a man  does,  he  should  at  least  be  consistent.  If 
you  feel  you  cannot  conscientiously  fulfil  the  calling  of  a 
priest,  you  ought  to  die  rather  than  become  one  ! ” 

“ Tiens  !”  he  murmured, — he  had  thrown  himself  back 
in  a chair  and  closed  his  eyes — “ that  is  easy  ! ” 

His  voice  had  a touch  of  deep  pathos  in  it,  and  my 
heart  ached  for  him.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  he 
was  suffering  greatly, — some  acute  unhappiness  had  him 
on  the  rack, — and  perhaps  he  did  not  tell  me  all,  or  even 
half  ^iis  griefs.  I drew  up  my  own  chair  to  the  table, 


WORMWOOD. 


79 


where  a large  bundle  of  financial  reports  awaited  my 
attention, — I was  quite  accustomed  to  have  him  often 
sitting  in  the  same  room  with  me  while  I worked,  so  that 
his  presence  did  not  disturb  me  in  the  least, — and  I paid 
no  heed  to  him  for  several  minutes.  All  at  once,  though 
my  head  was  bent  down  over  my  writing,  I became 
instinctively  aware  that  he  was  looking  intently  at  me, — 
and,  lifting  my  gaze  to  meet  his,  was  exceedingly  sorry 
to  see  what  a strange  expression  of  positive  agony  there 
was  in  his  beautiful  dark  eyes, — eyes  that  were  formerly 
so  serene  and  untroubled  as  to  be  almost  angelic.  I laid 
down  my  pen  and  surveyed  him  anxiously. 

“ Silvion,  mon  ami”  I said  gently — “ there  is  something 
else  on  your  mind,  more  than  this  feeling  about  the 
priesthood.  You  have  not  told  me  everything  ! ” 

lie  fi owned.  “ What  else  should  there  be  to  tell ! ,v  he 
answered,  with  a certain  quick  brnsquerie, — then  in  milder 
accents  he  added — “ My  dear  Beauvais,  don’t  you  know  a 
man  may  have  a thousand  infinitesimal  worries  all  mingled 
together  in  such  confusion  that  he  may  be  absolutely  un- 
able to  dissever  or  distinguish  them  separately  ? That  is 
my  case  ! I cannot  tell  you  plainly  what  is  the  matter 
with  me, — for  I hardly  know  myself.” 

“ Miserable  for  nothing,  then  ! ” I laughed,  scribbling 
away  again.  “ Just  life  my  little  Pauline  ! It  must  be  in 
the  air,  this  malady  ! ” 

There  was  a pause,  during  which  the  clock  seemed  to 
tick  with  an  almost  aggressive  loudness.  Then  Guide! 
spoke. 

“ Is  she  indeed  miserable,  do  you  think  ? ” he  asked,  in 
accents  so  hoarse  and  tremulous  that  I scarcely  recognized 
them  as  his.  “ She,  that  bright  child  of  joy  ? — the  little 
6 Sainte  Vierge  ’ as  I have  sometimes  called  her  ? — Oh, 
my  God!” 

This  last  exclamation  broke  from  him  like  a groan  of 
actual  physical  torture,  and  seeing  him  cover  his  face 
with  his  hands,  I sprang  to  his  side  in  haste  and  alarm. 

“ Guidel,  you  are  ill  ! I know  you  are  ! You  must 
either  stay  here  the  night  with  me,  or  let  me  walk  home 
with  you, — you  are  not  fit  to  be  alone  !” 

He  drew  away  his  hands  from  his  eyes,  and  looked  at 
me  very  strangely. 

“You  are  right,  Beauvais  ! I am  not  fit  to  be  alone! 


So 


WORMWOOD. 


Only  the  straight-minded  and  pure  of  heart  are  fit  for  soli- 
tude,— there  being  no  solitude  anywhere  ! No  solitude  ! 
• — for  every  inch  of  space  is  occupied  by  some  eyed  germ 
of  life, — and  none  can  tell  how  or  by  whom  our  most 
secret  deeds  are  watched  and  chronicled  1 To  be  alone, 
simply  means  to  be  confronted  with  God’s  invisible,  silent 
cloud  of  witnesses, — and  you  say  truly,  Beauvais,  I am  not 
fit  thus  to  be  alone  ! ” He  rose  from  his  chair  and  stood 
up,  resting  one  hand  on  my  arm.  “All  the  same” — he 
■continued,  forcing  a faint  smile — “I  will  not  bore  you 
any  longer  with  my  present  dismal  humor  ! Do  not  be- 
stow another  thought  on  me,  mon  ami , — I am  going  ! No  ! 
— positively  I cannot  allow  you  to  come  home  with  me ; — 
I am  not  ill,  Beauvais,  I assure  you  ! — I am  only  miserable . 
The  malady  of  misery  may  be,  as  you  say,  ‘ in  the  air  ! ’ ” 
He  laughed  drearily,  and  I watched  him  with  increasing 
concern  and  wonder.  “ Really  I do  believe  there  are 
strange  influences  in  the  air  sometimes  ; like  seeds  of 
plants  blown  by  the  wind  to  places  where  they  may  best 
take  root  and  fructify,  so  the  unseen  yet  living  organic  in- 
fusions of  hatred — or  love, — joy  or  sorrow,  may  be,  for  all 
we  know,  broadcast  in  the  seemingly  clear  ether,  ready  to 
sink  sooner  or  later  into  the  human  hearts  prepared  to 
receive  and  germinate  them.  It  isj  a wonderful  Universe  ! 
— and  wonderful  things  come  of  it  ! ” He  paused  again, 
and  then  held  out  his  hand.  “Forgive  my  spleen,  Beau- 
vais ! Good-night ! ” 

“ Good-night ! ” I answered,  feeling  somewhat  saddened 
myself  by  his  utter  dejection.  “ But  I wish  you  would 
let  me  accompany  you  part  of  the  way ! ” 

“ On  the  contrary,  you  will  oblige  me,  mon  cher , by 
sticking  to  your  work,  and  allowing  me  to  saunter  home  in 
my  own  desultory  fashion.  I want  to  think  out  a diffi- 
culty, and  I must  be  by  myself  to  do  it.” 

He  walked  across  the  room,  I following  him,  and  had 
nearly  reached  the  door  when  he  turned  sharply  round 
and  confronted  me. 

“ Supposing  I had  sinned  greatly  and  irretrievably, 
Beauvais,  could  you  forgive  me  ? ” 

I stared  at  him,  astonished. 

“ Sinned  ? You  l Greatly  and  irretrievably  ? Non- 
sense ! One  might  as  well  expect  sin  from  the  arch- 
angel Raphael ! ” 


WORM  WOOD. 


81 


He  broke  into  a laugh,  forced,  harsh,  and  bitter. 

“ Milles  remerciements  / Upon  my  word,  Beauvais, 
^ou  flatter  me  ! If  / am  like  the  archangel  Raphael, 
then  Raphael  has  deserted  Heaven  for  Hell  quite  re- 
cently! But  you  do  not  answer  my  question.  Could  you 
forgive  me  ? ” 

His  feverishly  brilliant  eyes  seemed  to  probe  my  very 
soul,  and  I hesitated  before  replying,  for,  strange  to  say, 
the  old  inexplicable  sense  of  distrust  and  aversion  rose 
up  in  me  anew,  and  seemed  not  only  to  throw  a sudden 
cloud  over  his  beauty,  but  also  in  part  to  quench  my 
friendly  sympathy. 

“ I do  not  think  I have  a malicious,nature  ” — I said  a~ 
last  doubtfully — “ and  I have  never  borne  any  one  a last- 
ing grudge  that  I can  remember.  I do  not  profess  par- 
ticularly Christian  principles  either,  because,  like  many 
of  my  countrymen  of  to-day,  I rather  adhere  to  the 
doctrines  of  a new  Universal  Religion  springing  solely 
out  of  Human  Social  Unity, — but  I think  I could  forgive 
•everything  except ” 

“ Except  what  ? ” he  asked  eagerly. 

“ Deliberate  deceit,”  I answered,  “ wilful  betrayal  of 
trust, — insidious  tampering  with  honor, — this  sort  of 
thing  I do  not  fancy  I could  ever  pardon.” 

“And  suppose /deceived  you  in  a great  and  impor- 
tant matter  ? ” persisted  Guide!,  still  looking  at  me.  I met 
his  gaze  fixedly,  and  spoke  out  the  blunt  truth  as  I then 
felt  it. 

“ Frankly, — I should  never  forgive  you  ! ” 

He  laughed  again,  rather  boisterously  this  time,  and 
once  more  shook  hands. 

“ Well  said,  Beauvais  ! I honor  you  for  the  sturdy 
courage  of  your  opinions ! Never  put  up  with  deceit ! 
A spoken  lie  is  bad  enough, — but  a wilfully  acted  lie  is 
worse  ! And  yet,  alas  ! — what  a false  world  we  live  in  ! 
— how  full  of  the  most  gracefully  performed  lying  ! The 
pity  of  it  is  that  when  tfuth  is  spoken,  no  one  can  be  got 
to  believe  it.  You  know  the  pretty  song  which  says — 

“ ‘ Mieux  que  la  rialite 
Vaut  un  beau  mensonge  / 9 

Oddly  enough,  the  least  strophe  of  poetry  always  reminds 

6 


82 


J VO  JC  M IV O OD. 


me  of  that  clever  Mademoiselle  St.  Cyr  ! She  returns  to 
Paris  soon,'  I suppose  ? ” 

“ She  is  expected  every  day,”  I replied,  glad  of  a more 
commonplace  turn  to  the  conversation.  “ She  may  be 
home  to-morrow.” 

“ Indeed  ! I shall  be  glad  to  see  her  again  ! ” 

“ So  shall  I ! ” I agreed  emphatically.  “ Pauline  will 
soon  recover  her  good  spirits  in  her  cousin’s  company.” 

“ No  doubt, — no  doubt ! ” And  he  looked  preoccupied 
and  thoughtful,  then,  with  a sudden  start,  he  exclaimed, 
“ My  good  Beauvais  ! I forgot ! Your  marriage  takes 
place  almost  immediately,  does  it  not  ? ” 

“ At  the  beginning  of  next  month,”  I answered,  smil- 

in  cr. 

©•  # 

He  seized  me  by  both  hands  enthusiastically. 

‘‘Ah!  Voila  le  bonhcitr  qui  vient  viteJ*”  And  his 
eyes  flashed  radiance  into  mine, — “ I am  ashamed,  Beau- 
vais ! — positively  ashamed  to  have  darkened  your  thresh- 
old with  the  shadow  of  myself  in  an  ill-humor!  A 
thousand^  pardons  ! I will  go  home  and  get  to  bed — with 
to-morrow’s  sun  I shall  probably  rise  a wiser  and  more 
cheerful  man  ! Think  no  more  of  my  peevishness ; we 
all  grumble  at  fate  now  and  then.  Au  revoir , cher  ami  ! 
and  may  your  dreams  be  rose-lit  with  the  glory  of  love 
and  the  face  of — Pauline  ! ” 

With  a bright  smile,  more  dazzling  than  usual  by  con- 
trast with  his  previous  gfoom,  he  left  me,— and  I watched 
him  from  the  street-door  as  he  strode  swiftly  across  the 
road  and  turned  in  the  direction  of  his  uncle’s  residence. 
Ilis  behavior  was  certainly  strange  for  one  who  was 
usually  the  very  quintessence  of  saiutly  serenity  and 
studious  reserve  ; — I was  puzzled  -by  it,  and  could  not 
make  him  out  at  all.  However,  after  a little  cogitation 
with  myself,  I came  to  the  conclusion  that  matters  were 
truly  as  he  had  said, — that  Paris  had  unsettled  him,  and 
that  he  was  beginning  to  have  serious  doubts  as  to 
whether  after  all  it  was  his  true* vocation  to  be  a priest. 
I myself  had  doubted  it  ever  since  I had  come  to  know 
him  intimately, — he  was  too  fond  of  science  and  philos- 
ophy,— too  eleven  too  handsome,  and  too  young  to  resign 
all  life’s  splendid  opportunities  for  the  service  of  a nar- 
row ard  cramping  religion.  I could  thoroughly  under- 
stand the  difficulty  in  which  he  was  placed, — and  I 


WORMWOOD. 


83 

wished  him  well  out  of  bondage  into  the  liberty  of  the 
free.  That  night  I was  busy  at  my  work  up  to  the  small 
hours  of  the  morning ; and  when  I did  get  to  bed  at  last, 
my  slumber  was  not  very  refreshing.  I continued  my 
task  of  adding  up  figures  throughout  my  dreams,  without 
ever  arriving  at  any  precise  conclusion.  I tried  in  the 
usual  futile  visionary  way  to  come  to  some  result  of  all 
these  distressful’ and  anxious  calculations,  but  in  vain, — 
the  arithmetical  jumble  refused  to  clear  itself  up  in  any 
sort  of  fashion,  and  bothered  me  all  night  long,  though 
now  and  then  it  dispersed  itself  out  of  numbers  into 
words,  and  became  a monotonous  refrain  of  the  lines 

“ Mieux  que  la  realite 
Vaut  un  beau  mensonge  ! ”, 


IX. 


On  the  following  afternoon,  between  four  and  five 
o’clock,  I went  to  see  Pauline,  as  I had  promised  her 
mother  I would, — a promise  I myself  was  only  too  eager 
to  fulfil.  Remembering  her  extreme  fondness  for  flowers, 
I bought  a basket  of  lilies-of-the-valley  at  the  establish- 
ment of  a famous  horticulturist,  noted  for  his  exquisite 
taste  in  floral  designs, — it  was  tied  with  loops  of  white 
and  palest  pink  rib|pon,  and  the  delicate  blossoms  loved 
by  Christ  of  old  were  softly  shaded  over  by  the  fine 
fronds  of  the  prettiest  fern  known,  the  dainty  maiden- 
hair. Armed  with  this  fragrant  trophy  of  love,  I entered 
the  little  morning-room  where  the  “ the  a Y Anglaise  ” was 
already  prepared,  and  found  Pauline  awaiting  me,  look- 
ing a perfect  fairy  visipn  of  youthful  grace,  mirth,  and 
loveliness ! She  sprang  forward  to  greet  me, — she  took 
the  lilies  from  my  hands  and  kissed  them,— she  threw  her 
arms  round  my  neck  and  thanked  me  with  the  same 
child-like  rapture  and  enthusiasm  that  had  distinguished 
her  on  the  night  I first  met  her,  when  she  had  talked  so 
ecstatically  about  the  “ marrons  glace”  I held  her  in 
my  close  embrace,  and  studied  her  features  with  all  a 
lover’s  passionate  scrutiny, — but  I could  discover  no 
traces  of  tears  in  her  eyes, — no  touch  of  pallid  grief  upon 
her  rose-flushed  cheeks ; — her  smiles  were  radiant  as  a 
June  morning,  and  I inwardly  rejoiced  to  find  her  so  full 
of  her  old  sparkling' animation  and  vivacity.  Drawing  a 
comfortable  chair  up  to  the  table,  she  made  me  sit  down 
while  she  prepared  the  tea,  and  I watched  her  with 
almost  dazzled  eyes  of  love  and  admiration,  as  she  flitted 
about  the  room  like  a sylph  on  wings. 

“ I was  told  that  you  were  ill  yesterday,  Pauline  ! ” 
— I said  presently — “ that  you  were  crying, — that  you 
were  unhappy.  Was  that  true  ? ” 

She  looked  up  laughingly. 

“ Oh  yes,  quite  true ! ” she  answered,  with  a droll  lit- 


WORMWOOD. 


*5 

tie  gesture  of  self-disdain.  “ So  many  tears,  Gaston ! 
I almost  floated  away  on  an  ocean  of  them  ! So  many 
dreadful  gasps  and  ugly  sobs ! Tiens ! I am  sure  I 
have  a red  nose  still, — & it  not  so  ? ” 

And,  kneeling  down  beside  me,  she  raised  her  fair  face 
to  mine  in  mirthful  inquiry.  Kissing  her,  I told  her  she 
had  never  looked  lovelier,  which  was  true,— whereupon 
she  sprang  up  and  curtsied  demurely. 

“ I am  glad  I am  pretty  still ! ” she  said, — then  all  at 
once  a darkness  crossed  her  brows  like  the  shadow  of  a 
cloud.  “ How  horrible  it  would  be  to  grow  ugly,  Gaston  ! 
— to  get  worn  and  thin  and  old, 'with  great  black  rings 
like  spectacles  round  the  eyes, — to  lose  all  the  gloss  out 
of  one’s  hqjr, — and  to  be  so  weary,  so  weary,  that  the 
feet  will  hardly  bear  one  along ! Ah  ! — I saw  a woman 
like  that  the  other  day, — she  sat  on  one  of  the  seats  in 
the  Bois,  quite  quite  alone, — with  no  one  to  pity  her.  Her 
eyes  said  despair,  despair  ! — always  despair  ! — and  my 
heart  ached  for  her  ! ” 

“ But  you  mu$t  not  think  about  these  things,  my  dar- 
ling,” I said,  taking  her  hand  and  drawing  her  towards 
me.  “There  are  many  such  sad  sights  in  Paris  and  in 
all  large  cities, — but  you  must  not  dwell  upon  them. 
And  as  for  getting  ugly  ! ” — I laughed — “ you  need  have 
no  fear  of  that  ! — you  are  growing  more  beautiful  every 
day  \»% 

“ You  think  so  ? ” she  queried  with  a coquettish  in- 
quisitiveness. “ That  is  well ! I am  pleased, — for  I 
wish  to  be  beautiful.” 

“ You  are  beautiful ! ” I re-asserted  emphatically. 

“Not  as  beautiful. as  I should  like  to  be!”  she  mur- 
mured musingly.  “ There  are  some  people, — even  men, 
— who  are  possessed  of  beauty  that  can  never  be  matched, 
— that  is  quite  unique,  like  the  beauty  of  the  sculptured 
Greek  heroes,  and  then  it  is  indeed  wonderful  ! ” She 
paused, — then  rousihg  herself  with  a slight  start,  she 
went  on  more  gayly,  “ Come,  Gaston,  we  will  have  tea ! 
We  will  be  like  the  good  people  in  England, — we  will 
sip.  hot  stuff  and  talk  a little  scandal  between  the  sips. 
That  is  the  proper  way  ! Now  there  is  your  cup, — here 
is  mine.  Bien  ! — Whom  shall  we  abuse  ? ” 

I laughed, — she  looked  so  pretty  and  mischievous. 

“Wait  a little, ” I said,  “ you  have  not  told  me  yet  why 


WORMWOOD . 


86 

you  cried  so  much  yesterday,  Pauline?  You  admit  that 
you  did  cry, — well ! — what  was  the  reason  ? ” 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

“Qui  sait ! I cannot  tell!  It  was  pleasant — it  did 
me  good  ! ” 

“ Pleasant  to  cry  ? ” I queried  amusedly. 

“ Very  pleasant ! ” she  answered.  “ Something  was  in 
my  heart,  you  know, — something  strange,  like  a bird  that 
>vished  to  sing  and  fly  far,  far  away ! — but  it  was  caged, — 
and  so  it  fluttered  and  fluttered  a little  and  teased  me, — 
but  when  the  tears  came  it  was  quite  still.  And  now  it 
remains  quite  still ! — I /do  not  think  it  will  try  to  sing  or 
to  fly  any  more  ! ” 

There  was  a quaint  touch  of  pathos  in  these  words 
that  moved  me  uneasily.  I put  down  my  as  yet  untasted 
cup  of  tea,  and  stretched  out  my  hand. 

“ Come  here,  Pauline  ! ” 

She  came  obediently. 

I set  her,  like  a little  child,  on  my  knee,  and  looked 
earnestly  into  her  face. 

“ Tell  me,  my  darling/’  I said,  with  tender  seriousness, 
“is  there  anything  that  is  troubling  you?  Have  you 
some  unhappiness  that  you  conceal  from  every  one  ? — - 
and,  if  so,  may  I not  be  your  confidant  ? Surely  you  can 
trust  me  ! You  know  how  truly  and  ardently  I love  you  ! 
— you  know  that  I would  do  anything  in  the  world  for- 
you, — you  might  set  me  any  task,  however  difficult,  and 
I would  somehow  manage  to  perform  it ! My  whole  life 
is  yours,  my  dearest ! — will  you  not  confide  your  griefs  to 
me, — if  you  have  griefs, — and  let  me  not  only  share  them, 
but  lift  the  burden  of.  them  altogether  from  your  mind, 
which  ought  to  be  as  bright  and  untroubled  as  a mid- 
summer sky ! ” 

She  met  my  searching  gaze  openly, — her  breathing  was 
a little  quicker  than  usual,  but  she  gave  no  other  sign  of 
disquietude.  f 

“ I have  no  griefs,  Gaston,”  she  said,  in  a low,  rather 
tremulous  voice;  “none  at  least  that  I can  give  words  to. 
I think — perhaps, — I am  a little  tired  ! — and — I have 
missed  Heloise ” 

“ Is  that  your  trouble  ? ” and  I smiled.  “ But  what  will 
you  do  without  Heloise  when  you  are  married  ? ” 

, “I — I do  not  know!”  she  faltered  timidly.^  “I  shall 


WORMWOOD. 


87 


have  you  then  ! ” I kissed  her.  “ And  ,you  are  very, 
very  kind  to  me,  Gaston  ! and  I promise  you-’ — ” 

44  What  ? ” I asked  eagerly. 

She  hesitated  a moment,  then  went  on — 44  I promise 
you  I will  tell  you  if  I get  sad  again— yes  ! — I will  tell  you 
everything! — and, you  will  be  good  and  gentle  with  me, 
and  comfort  me,  will  you  not  ? ” 

44  Indeed  I will,  my  darling,  my  angel ! ” I said,  fondly 
caressing  her  pretty  hair.  44  Who  should  console  you  in 
any  sorrow  if  not  I ? I shall  be  quite  jealous  of  Heloise 
if  she  is  to  have  the  largest  share  of  your  confidence.” 

“ But  she  will  not  have  it,”  interrupted  Pauline  quite 
suddenly.  “ I could  never  tell  her  any — any  dreadful 
trouble  ! ” 

I laughed.  “ Let  us  hope  you  will  never  know  what 
any  4 dreadful  ’ trouble  is  ! ” I rejoined  earnestly.  44  But 
why  could  you  not  tell  Heloise  ? ” 

She  mused  a little  before  replying, — then  said,  speaking 
slowly  and  thoughtfully — 

“^Because  she  is  so  great  and  grand  and  far  above  me 
in  everything  ! Ah,  you  smile  as  if  you  did  not  believe 
me,  Gaston, — but  you  do  not  know  her ! Heloise  is 
divine! — her  goodness  seems  to  me  quite  unearthly!  I 
have  caught  her  sometimes  at  her  prayers — and  it  is 
beautiful  to  see  her  face  looking  as  pure  and  sweet  as  an 
angel’s  ! — and  her  lovely  closed  eyelids  just  like  shut-up 
shells, — and  she  has  such  long  lashes,  Gaston  ! — longer 
than  mine  ! She  reminds  me  of  a picture  that  used  to 
hang  in  one  of  the  chapels  at  the  Convent  of  the  Sacre 
Cceur, — Santa  Filomena  it  was,  crowned  with  thorns  and 
lilies.  And  she  is  so  very  very  good  in  every  way  that  I 
know  I should  never  have  courage  to  tell  her  if — if  I had 


been  wicked ! ” 

Here  she  lowered  her  eyes,  and  a hot  blush  wavered 
across  her  face. 

44  But  you  have  not  been  wicked,  child ! ” I exclaimed, 
still  somewhat  puzzled  by  her  manner.  44  You  could  not 
/ be  wicked  if  you  tried  ! ” 

/ 44  You  think  not  ? ” she  returned  softly,  raising  her  eyes 

again  to  mine,  and  I observed  that  she  was  now  as  pale 
as  she  had  a minute  before  been  flushed.  44  Dear  Gas- 
ton ! You  are  so  fond  of  me  ! — and  always  kind  ! I am 
very  very  grateful ! ” 


88 


WORMWOOD . 


Nestling  down,  she  laid  her  head  against  my  breast  for 
a second, — then  springing  up  again,  pushed  back  her 
rich  curls,  and  laughingly  remonstrated  with  me  for  not 
drinking  my  tea. 

“ It  is  cold  now, — I will  pour  you  out  some  more,”  she 
said*  suiting  the  action  to  the  word.  “ Don’t  let  us  talk 
of  disagreeable  things,  Gaston, — of  my  crying,  and  all 
that  nonsense ! It  was  very  stupid  of  me  to  cry, — you 
must  forget'  it, — for  to-day  I am  quite  well  and  merry, — 
and — and — oh,  do  let  us  be  happy  while  we  can  ! ” 

Whereupon  she  seated  herself  opposite  to  me,  and  be- 
gan chatting  away,  just  in  her  old  bright  fashion,  of  all 
sorts  of  things, — of  her  parents, — of  the  extra  dainty 
luxuries  “ Maman  ” had  recently  added  to  her  trousseau  ; 
— and  with  feminine  tact,  she  managed  to  draw  together 
such  an  inexhaustible  number  of  brilliant  trifles  in  her 
conversation,  that,  charmed  by  her  vivacity,  I ceased  to 
remember  that  she  could  ever  have  been  sad,  even  for  an 
hour.  But,  before  I left  her,  I was  made  miserable  again 
by  a very  untoward  circumstance.  Just  when  I was  about 
to  say  good-bye,— for  the  excess  of  my  work  would  not 
allow  me  to  stay  with  her  longer, — I alluded  once  more 
to  her  past  depression,  and  said — 

“ You  are  such  a bright  fairy  now,  Pauline,  that  I think 
you  must  try  and  put  our  friend  Guidel  in  better  spirits 
when  next  you  see  him.  He  seems  in  a very  melancholy 
frame  of  mind  ! Oddly  epough,  yesterday,  when  you  were 
so  sad,  he  was  with  me,  giving  utterance  to  the  most 
lugubrious  sentiments.  In  fact,  I thought  he  was  ill  ” — 
Pauline  was  about  to  fasten  a flower  in  my  coat,  but  here 
she  dropped  it,  and  stooped  down  on  the  floor  to  find  it 
— “ so  ill,”  I continued,  “ that  I was  for  going  home  with 
him  to  see  that  he  got  there  all  right;  but  he  assured  me 
it  was  only  a maladie  de  tristesse.  I fancy  he  doesn’t  want 
to  be  a priest  after  all  ” — here  Pauline  found  the  fallen 
blossom  she  was  searching  for,  and  began  to  pin  it  in  my 
button-hole  with  such  shaking  fingers  that  I became 
alarmed.  “ Why,  you  are  shivering,  my  darling  ! Are 
you  cold  ? ” 

“ A little  ! ” she  murmured.  “ I — I ” The  sen- 

tence died  on  her  lips,  and  with  a helpless  swaying 
movement  she  fell  in  a sudden  swoon  at  my  feet ! 

Wild  with  fright,  I caught  her  up  in  my  arms,  and  rang. 


WORMWOOD. 


the  bell  furiously, — the  Comtesse  de  Charmilles  came 
hurrying  in,  and  in  obedience  to  her  rapid  instructions,  I 
laid  my  pretty  Httle  one  down  on  a sofa,  and  looked  on  in 
rigid  anxiety,  while  her  mother  bathed  her  hands  and 
forehead  with  eau-de-cologne. 

“ She  has  fainted  like  this  once  before,”  said  the  Com- 
tesse, lf  in  a low  tone.  “ Do  not  be  alarmed,  Gaston, — she 
will  be  all  right  in  a minute  or  two.  Did  you  ask  her 
what  I told  you  ? ” 

I nodded  in  the  affirmative.  I could  not  take  my  eyes 
off  the  lovely  little  face  that  lay  so  pale  and  quiet  on  the 
sofa  pillows  near  me. 

“ And  did  she  say  anything  ? ” 

“Nothing!'”  I answered  with  a sigh.  “ Nothing,  ex- 
cept that  she  was  quite  well,  and  quite  happy,  and  that 
she  had  no  grief  whatever.  And  she  promised  that  if 
ever  she  felt  sad  again,  she  would  come  to  me  and  tell 
me  everything  1 ” 

A look  of  evident  relief  brightened  the  mother’s  watch- 
ful face,  and  she  smiled. 

“ That  is  well  1 ” she  said  gently.  “ I am  glad  she 
promised  that  ! As  for  this  little  malaise , I attach  no 
importance  to  it.  Young  and  over-excitable  girls  often 
faint  in  this  foolish  little  way.  There  ! — she  is  better 
now — see  ! — she  is  looking  at  you  ! ” 

And  indeed  the  sweet  blue  eyes,  that  were  heaven’s 
own  light  to  my  soul,  had  opened,  and  were  fixed  wistfully 
upon  me.  Eagerly  I bent  over  her  couch. 

“ Is  that  you,  Gaston  ? ” she  faintly  inquired. 

For  all  answer  I kissed  her.* 

“ Thank  you ! ” she  said,  with  a pretty  plaintiveness. 
“ Now  you  will  go  away,  will  you  not  ? — and  let  Maman 
take  care  of  me.  My  head  aches — but  that  is  nothing. 
I shall  be  quite  well  again  soon  ! ” She  smiled,  and  the 
warm  color  came  back  to  her  cheeks.  “ Au  revoir , 
Gaston  ! Kiss  me  once  more, — it  comforts  me  to  think 
how  good  and  true  and  kind  you  are  ! ” 

With  what  reverential  tenderness  I pressed  my  lips  to 
hers,  Heaven  only  knows ! — I little  imagined  it  was  the 
last  time  I $hould  ever  touch  that  sweet  mouth  with  the 
passionate  sign  of  love’s  dearest  benediction  ! She  closed 
her  eyes  again  then, — and  the  Comtesse  told  me  in  a soft 
undertone,  that  she  would  now  in  all  probability  fail 


9° 


WoltiUlVOOD. 


asleep  and  slumber  away  her  temporary  weakness, — so, 
making  my  whispered  adieux  to  the  gentle  and  patiently 
absorbed  mother,  I stole  on  tip-toe  from  the  room,  and  in 
another  minute  or  two  had  left  the  house. 

Once  out  in  the  open  air,  however,  I became  a prey 
to  the  most  extraordinary  and  violent  anxiety.  Every- 
thing to  my  mind  looked  suddenly  overcast  with  gloom, 
I knew  not  why.  Certainly  the  sun  had  set,  and  the  dusk 
was  deepening, — but  the  closing-in  of  the  evening  shadows 
did  not,  as  a rule,  affect  my  spirits  with  such  a sense  of 
indefinable  dreariness.  I walked  home  mechanically, 
brooding  on  Pauline’s  fainting-fit,  and  exaggerating  it 
more  and  more  in  my  thoughts  till  it  assumed  the  propor- 
tion of  an  ominous  symptom  of  approaching  death.  I 
worked  myself  up  into  such  a morbid  condition  of  mind, 
that  the  very  trees,  covered  with  their  young  green  and 
bursting  buds,  merely  suggested  the  trees  in  cemeteries, 
that  were  also  looking  heartlessly  gay,  because  it  was 
Spring,  regardless  of  the  dead  in  the  ground  below  them. 
And,  occupied  with  my  miserable  musings,  I nearly  ran 
up  against  Silvion  Guidel,  who  was  coming  in  an  opposite 
direction, — he  looked  like  the  ghost  of  a fair  Greek  God, 
I thought, — so  wan  and  wild-eyed  yet  beautiful  was  he. 
He  caught  my  hands  eagerly, 

“ Where  are  you  going,  Beauvais?  You  look  as  if  you 
were  stumbling  along  in  a dream  ! ” 

I forced  a smile.  “ I dare  say  I do, — I feel  like  it ! 
Pauline  is  very  ill,  Guidel  1 — she  fainted' at  my  feet  to- 
day ! ” 

He  turned  sharply  round  as  though  he  suddenly  per- 
ceived some  one  he  knew,^-then  hurriedly  apologized. 

“ I thought  I saw  my  old  chiffonier ,”  he  said  lightly. 
“ A friend  and  pensioner  of  mine,  to  whom  for  my  soul’s 
sake  I give  many  an  odd  sou.  Mademoiselle  de  Char- 
milles  fainted,  you  say?  Oh,  but  that  is  not  a very 
alarming  symptom  ! ” / 

I considered  that  he  treated  the  case  with  undue  levity, 
and  told  him  so  rather  vexedly.  He  laughed  a little. 

“ Mon  cher , I will  not  encourage  you  in  your  morbid 
humor  any  more  than  you  encouraged  me  l^st  night  in 
mine.  You  are — like  all  lovers — inclined  to  exaggerate 
every  trifling  ailment  affecting  the  well-being  of  the  person 
loved.  If  I loved, — if  I could  love, — I suppose  I should 


WORMWOOD. 


91 


be  the  same  ! But  I have 'the  hollow  heart  of  a perpetual 
celibate,  mon  ami  /” — and  he  laughed  again — “so  I can 
be  merry  and  wise,  both  together.  And  out  of  my  mirth — 
which  is  great,— and  my  wisdom — which  is  even  greater ! 
— I wdtild  advise  you  not  to  dwell  with  such  melancholy 
profoundness  on  the  slight  indisposition  of  your  fair 
fiancee.  To  faint  is  nothing, — many  a school-girl  faints 
at  early  mass,  and  the  teachers  think  it  of  very  little  im- 
port.” 

But  I was  Joo  full  of  my  own  view  of  the  matter  to 
listen. 

“All  in  one  minutd  ” — I persisted  morosely — 4 'the 
dear  child  fell  in  a dead  swoon, — and  I had  just  been 
speaking  to  her  about  you  !” 

“ About  me  ! ” and  he  bit  his  lips  hard.  “ Mon  Dieu  ! 
— what  an  uninteresting  subject  of  conversation  ! ” 

“ I had  been  telling  her  ” — I went  on — “ that  you  seemed 
to  be  ill  last  night, — ill  and  sad  ; and  I had  even  suggested 
that  she,  out  of  her  own  brightness,  should  try  to  put  you 

in  better  spirits  the  next  time  she  saw  you, Really 

Guidel,  you  are  horribly  brusque  to-day  ! ” 

For  he  had  seized  my  hand,  shaking  it,  and  was  actu- 
ally rushing  off  ! 

“ A thousand  pardons,  mon  cher ! ” he  said,  in  quick, 
rather  hoarse  accents ; “ I am  bound  on  an  errand  of 
charily — I must  fulfill  it ! — it  is  getting  late,  and  I have 
very  little  time  ? An  revoir  ! I will  see  you  later  on  ! ” 
And  away  he  went,  walking  at  an  unusually  rapid  rate, 
— and  for  the  moment  I was  quite  kurt  at  the  entire  want 
■of  sympathy  he  had  shown  with  regard  to  Pauline’s  ill- 
ness.  But  I presently  came  to  the  conclusion  that  oi 
course  he  could  not  be  expected  to  feel  as  I felt  about  it, 
— and  I resumed  the  nursing  of  my  own  dismal  mood  in 
unrelieved  despondency  till  I leached  home,  where  the 
work  I had  to  do  in  part  distracted  me  from  my  saddei 
thoughts.  No  one  interrupted  me.  Silvion  Guidel  did 
not  come  “ later  on  ” as  he  had  said,  and  I saw  him  na 
more  that  night.  Towards  bed-time  I got  a telegram  from 
my  father,  announcing  that  he  would  return  home  on  the 
next  day  but  one.  This  news  was  some  slight  consolation 
to  me, — as,  with  his  arrival,  I knew  I should  be  released 
from  many  onerous  duties  at  the  bank, — and  so  have  more 
time  to  spend  in  Pauline’s  company.  Yet,  nevertheless, 


9& 


WORMWOOD. 


I remained  in  the  same  state  of  mental  dejection,  mingled 
with  a certain  vague  and  superstitious  morbidness, — for 
when  I went  up  to  my  bedroom,  and  looked  out  at  the 
skies  before  shutting  the  shutters,  I saw  a dense  black 
rain-cloud  creeping  up  from  the  western  horizon,  and  I 
at  once  took  it  as  an  ill  omen  to  my  own  fortunes.  I 
watched  it  darkening  the  heavens  slowly  and  blotting  out 
the  stars  ; and,  as  I heard  the  wind  beginning  to  moan 
softly  among  the  near  branches,  I murmured  to  myself 
almost  unconsciously — 

“ Les  antes  dont  faurais  besoin 
Et  les  etoiles  sonftrop  loin  ! 

Je  vais  mourir  seul — dans  un  coin  ! ” 

These  lines  worried  me, — I could  not  imagine  how  they 
had  managed  to  fix  themselves  in  my  memory.  I put 
them  down  to  Heloise  and  her  bizarre  recitations, — but 
all  the  same  they  made  me  inexplicably  wretched.  Shiv- 
ering with  the  chill  the  approaching  storm  was  already 
sending  through  the  air,  I closed  my  window,  went  to  bed, 
and  slept  soundly,  peacefully,  and  deliciously ; — I remem- 
ber it  thus  particularly  because  it  was  the  last  time  I ex- 
perienced the  blessing  of  sleep.  The  last, — the  very  last 
time  I say ! I have  not  slept  at  all  since  then, — I have 
only  dreamed  1 


WORMWOOD* 


93 


X. 

With  the  morrow’s  daybreak*  came  a complete  change 
:in  the  weather, — a change  that  was  infinitely  dismal  and 
dreary.  The  bright  sunshine,  that  had  been  like  God’s 
best  blessing  on  the  world  for  the  past  two  weeks,  disap- 
peared as  though  it  had  never  shone,  and  rain  fell  in  tor- 
rents. A wild  wind  blew  round  and  round  the  city  in 
sweeping  gusts,  tearing  off  the  delicate  young  leaves 
from  their  parent  branches  and  making  pitiful  havoc  of 
all  the  sweet-scented  gayly-colored  spring  blossoms.  It 
was  a miserable  morning, — but  in  spite  of  wind  and  rain 
I started  rather  earlier  than  usual  for  the  bank,  as,  my 
father  having  now  signified  the  next  day  as  the  one  of  his 
•certain  return,  I was  anxious  he  should  find  everything  in 
the  most  absolute  order  on  his  arrival,  and  thus  be  as- 
sured of  my  value  not  only  as  a good  son,  but  also  ds  a 
thoroughly  reliable  partner.  We  were  all  up  to  our  ears 
in  work  that  day, — a greal  of  extra  business  came  in,  and 
the  hours  flew  on  so  rapidly  that  it  was  past  six  o’clock 
in  the  afternoon  before  I was  released  from  my  office 
bondage, — and,  even  then,  I still  had  a good  many  mat- 
ters to  attend  to  when  I got  back  to  my  own  house.  I 
had  no  leisure  to  call  at  the  De  Charmilles’,  though  I 
longed  to  know  how  Pauline  was, — but  I did  not  fret  my- 
self so  greatly  about  that  now  as  previously,  knowing  that 
by  the  next  noon  my  father  would  have  arrived,  and  that 
I should  then  have  my  time  very  much  more  at  my  own 
disposal.  The  rain  still  continued  pouring  fiercely, — • 
Very  few  people  were  abroad  in  the  streets, — and  though 
1 took  the  omnibus  part  of  the  way  home,  the  few  steps 
that  remained  between  that  vehicle  and  my  own  door, 
were  sufficient  to  drench  me  through.  As  soon  as  I got 
in,  I changed  my  clothes,  had  my  solitary  dinner,  and 
ordered  a small  wood  fire  to  be  lit  in  the  library,  whither 
I presently  repaired  with  my  papers  and  account  books, 
and  was  soon  so  busily  engrossed  that  I almost  forgot  the 


94 


WORMWOOD. 


angry  storm  that  was  raging  without,  save  in  the  intervals 
of  work,  when  I heard  the  rain  beat  in  gusty  clamor  at 
the  windows,  and  the  trees  groan  as  they  rustled  and 
swayed  backwards  and  forwards  in  the  increasing  fury  of 
the  gale.  Presently,  from  the  antique  time-piece,  that 
stood  on  an  equally  antique  secretaire  just  behind  me,  nine 
o’clock  struck  with  a loud  and  brazen  clang, — and  as  it 
ceased  I laid  down  my  pen  for  a moment  and  listened  to 
the  deepening  snarl  of  the  savage  elements. 

“ What  a night ! ” I thought.  *“  A night  for  demons  to 
stalk  abroad,  and  witches  to  ride  through  the  air  on 
broomsticks!  Dieu ! how  dull  it  is!  One  must  smoke 
to  keep  the  damp  away.” 

And  I opened  my  cigar-case.  I was  just  about  to 
strike  a light,  when  I fancied  I heard  something  like  a 
faint,  very  faint  attempt  to  ring  the  street-door  bell.  I 
listened, — the  same  sound  was  repeated.  It  was  much 
too  feeble  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  servants  below, — 
and  as  the  library  windows  jutted  on  the  street,  and  as  I 
could,  by  drawing  aside  the  curtain  a little,  generally  see 
whosoever  might  ascend  our  steps,  I peeped  cautiously 
out.  At  first  I could  perceive  nothing,  the  night  was  so 
wet  and  dark  ; but  presently  I discerned  a slight  shadowy 
figure  huddled  against  the  door  as  though  sheltering  itself 
from  the  pitiless  rain. 

“ Some  poor  starving  soul,”  I soliloquized,  “ who  per- 
haps does  not  know  Where  to  turn  in  all  Paris  for  bread. 
I’ll  see  who  it  is.” 

And,  acting  on  the  impulse  that  moved  me  to  be 
charitable  to  any  unhappy  creature  benighted  in  such  a 
hurricane,  I crossed  the  passage  softly  and  opened  the 
door  wide.  As  I did  so,  the  figure  started  back  in  appar- 
ent fear, — it  was  a veiled  woman, — and  through  the  veil  I 
felt  her  eyes  looking  at  me. 

What  is  it  ? ” I asked,  as  gently  as  I could.  “ What 
do  you  want  ? ” 

For  all  answer,  two  hands  were  stretched  towards  me 
in  wild  appeal,  and  a sobbing  voice  cried — 

“ Gaston  ! ” 

“ My  God!  Pauline 7” 

Seized  by  a mortal  terror,  and  with  a convulsive  effort 
as  though  I were  dragging  forth  some  drowning  creature 
from  the  sea,  I caught  her  in  my  arms  and  almost  lifted 


WORMWOOD . 


95 


her  across  the  threshold ; how  I supported  her,  whether 
I carried  her  or  led  her,  I never  knew, — my  senses  were 
all  in  a whirl,  and  I realized  nothing  distinctly  till  I had 
reached  the  library  once  more,  and  placed  her,  a shudder- 
ing, drooping  little  creature,  in  the  arm-chair  I had  but 
just  vacated  near  the  fire.  Then  my  dazed  brain  righted 
itself,  and  I flung  myself  at  her  feet  in  an  agony  of  alarm 
and  suspense. 

“ Pauline,  Pauline  !„”  I whispered,  “what  is  this? — why 
have  you  come  here  ? In  such  a storm  of  rain  and  wind 
too!,  See!” — and  I took  up  the  end  of  her  dress  and 
wrung  it  in  my  hands— “ You  are  wet  through  ! My 
darling,  you  frighten  me  ! — Are  you  ill  ? — has  any  one  been 
unkind  to  you  ? ” 

She  lifted  her  head  and  tremblingly  put  back  the  close 
veils  he  wore, — and  I uttered  a stifled  cry  at  the  pale 
misery  imprinted  on  her  fair,  fair  young  face. 

“No  one  has  been  unkind,”  she  said  in  a faint  plaintive 
voice,  like  the  voice  of  one  weakened  by  long  physical 
suffering  ; “ and — I am  not  ill  ! I want  to  speak  to  you, 
Gaston  ! — I promised  you  that  if  I wa^  very  sad  and 
troubled,  I would  tell  you  everything, — and  you  said  you 
would  be  gentle  with  me  and  would  comfort  me, — you 
remember  ? Well,  now  I have  come  ! — to  tell  you  some- 
thing that  must  be  told, — and  to-night  is  my  only  chance, 
— for  they  have  gone, — papa  and  mamma — to  the  theatre, 
and  I am  all  alone.  They  wanted  me  to  go  with  them, 
but  I begged  them  to  leave  me  at  home, — I felt  that  I 
must  see  you  quite  by  yourself, — and  tell  you, — yes  ! — tell 
you  everything  ! ” 

A long  shivering  sigh  escaped  her  lips  ; and  frozen  to 
the  very  soul  by  a dim  fear  that  I could  not  analyze,  I 
rose  from  my  kneeling  position  at  her  side,  and  sfood 
stiffly  upright.  At  first  my  only  thought  was  for  her.  A 
young  girl  coming  alone  to  the  house  of  her  lover  at 
night  in  a city  like  Paris,  exposed  herself,  consciously  or 
unconsciously,  to  the  direst  slander,  and  it  was  with  this 
idea  that  I was  chiefly  occupied  as  I looked  at  her  crouch- 
ing form  in  the  chair  beside  me.  I hastily  considered 
the  only  possible  risk  she  at  present  incurred,— namely, 
that  of  being  seen  by  our  servants  and  made  the  subject 
of  their  idle  gossip,  and  I determined  to  circumvent  this 
at  any  rate 


WORMWOOD. 


K 
96 

u Pauline,  my  little  one,”  I said  gravely,  “ whatever  it 
is  you  wish  to  tell  me,  could  you  not  have  waited  till  I 
came  to  see  you  in  the  usual  way  ? You  ought  not  to 
have  flown  hither  so  recklessly,  little  bird  ! you  expose 
yourself  to  scandal;” 

“ Scandal  ! ” she  echoed,  looking  at  me  with  a feverish 
light  in  her  blue  eyes.  “ It  cannot  say  more  evil  of  me 
than  I deserve  ! — and  I could  not  wait ! — I have  waited 
already  far  too  long  ! ” 

A great  heaviness  fell  on  my  heart  at  these  words, — 
my  very  lips  grew  cold,  and  a tremor  ran  through  me. 
But,  nevertheless,  I resolved  to  carryout  the  notion  I had 
preconceived  of  keeping  this  nocturnal  flight  of  hers  a 
profound  secret. 

“ Stay  here,”  I said,  as  calmly  as  I could  for  the  shak- 
ing dread  that  possessed  me.  “ Try  to  get  warm, — I 
will  bring  you  some  wine.  Take  that  wet  cloak  off  and 
be  quite  quiet, — I will  return  immediately.” 

She  looked  after  me  with  a sort  of  beseeching  won- 
derment as  I left  her,  but  I dared  not  meet  her  eyes — 
there  was  an  expression  in  them  that  terrified  me  ! I 
went,  as  in  a dream,  to  the  dining-room  ; got  some  wine 
and  a glass,— carefully  turned  out  the  lights,  and  then 
proceeded  to  the  head  of  the  basement  stairs  and  called 
our  man-servant. 

“ Dunois  ! ” 

“ Oui,  m’sieu  ! ” 

“ Tell  them  all  down  there  that  they  can  go  to  bed, — 
you  can  do  the  same.  I shall  want  nothing  more  to- 
night. I have  locked  the  street-door,  and  the  lamps  are 
out  in  the  dining-room.  My  father  will  be  home  to- 
morrow,— so  you  will  all  have  to  be  up  early — call  me 
abfcut  seven.  Do  you  hear  ? ” 

“ Oui,  m’sieu  ! ” 

“ Good  night ! ” 

Dunois  responded, — and  I listened  breathlessly  while 
he  repeated  my  orders  to  the  other  servants.  I waited 
yet  a few  minutes  and  presently  heard  them  preparing  to 
acsend  their  own  private  stairway  to  the  top  of  the  house, 
where  they  each  had  their  several  rooms.  They  were 
hard  workers,  and  were  always  glad  of  extra  rest ; — they 
would  soon  be  sound  asleep,  thank  Heaven  ! — they 
need  know  nothing.  Satisfied  that  so  far,  all  was  safe,  I 


WORMWOOD. 


97 


stepped  noiselessly  back  to  the  library,  and,  entering, 
closed  and  locked  the  door.  Pauline  was  sitting  exactly 
in  the  same  position, — her  wet  cloak  still  clinging  round 
her, — her  veil  flung  back,  her  hands  clasped,  and  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  red  embers  of  the  fire.  Approaching, 
I,  without  a word,  loosened  her  cloak  and  took  it  off,  and 
methodically  hung  it  on  the  back  of  two  chairs  to  dry, — 
I removed  the  little  rain-soaked  hat  from  her  tumbled 
curls,  and  pouring  out  a glass  of  wine,  held  it  to  her  lips 
with  a firm  hand  enough,  though  God  knows  my  heart 
was  beating  as  though  it  would  burst  its  fleshly  prison. 

“ Drink  this,  Pauline,”  I said  authoritatively.  “ Come, 
you  must  drink  it, — you  are  as  cold  as  ice.  When  you 
have  taken  it,  I will  listen  to — to  whatever  you  wish  to 
say.” 

She  obeyed  me  mechanically,  and  managed  to  swallow 
half  the  contents  of  the  glass, — then  she  put  it  away 
from  her  with  a faint  gesture  of  aversion. 

“ I cannot  drink  it,  Gaston  ! ” she  faltered,  “ it  seems 
to  suffocate  me  ! 99 

I set  it  aside,  and  looked  at  her,  waiting  for  her  next 
words.  But  no  words  came.  She  fixed  her  large  soft 
eyes  upon  me  with  the  wistful  entreaty  of  a hunted  fawn, 
— then  suddenly  the  tears  welled  up  into  them  and 
brimmed  over,  and,  covering  her  face,  she  broke  into 
piteous  and  passionate  sobbing.  Every  nerve  in  my 
body  seemed  to  be  wrenched  and  tortured  by  the  sound  j 
I could  not  bear  to  see  her  in  such  grief,  and  kneeling 
down  beside  her  once  more,  I put  my  arms  round  her 
and  pressed  her  pretty  head  against  my  breast.  But  I 
did  not  kiss  her ; some  strange  instinct  held  me  back 
from  that ! 

“ Do  not  cry,  Pauline  ! — do  not  cry  ! ” I implored, 
rocking  her  to  and  fro  as  if  she  were  a little  tired  child. 
“Do  not,  my  darling! — it  breaks  my  heart!  Tell  me 
what  is  the  matter, — you  are  not  afraid  of  me,  mon  ange, 
— are  you  ? Hush,  hush  ! To  see  you  in  such  unhap- 
piness quite  distracts  me,  Pauline  ! — it  unmans  me, — do 
try  to  be  calm!  You  are  quite  safe  with  me, — no  one 
will  come  near  us, — no  one  knows  you  are  here, — and  I 
will  take  you  home  myself  as  soon  as  you  are  more 
tranquil.  There  ! — now  you  shall  speak  to  me  as  long 

7 


I VO /C  AH  l 'C  CD. 


98 

as  you  like, — you  shall  tell  me  everything — everything, 
except  that  you  do  not  love  me  any  more  ! ” 

With  a faint  exclamation  and  a sudden  movement, 
she  loosened  my  arms  from  her  waist  and  drew  herself 
apart. 

“ Oh,  poor  Gaston  ! — but  that  is  just  what  I must  tell 
you  ! ” she  sobbed.  “ Oh,  forgive  me — forgive  me  ! I 
have  done  you  great  wrong, — I have  deceived  you 
wickedly, — but  oh,  do  not  be  cruel  to  me,  though  I am  s_o 
cruel  to  you  ! Do  not  be  cruel, — I cannot  bear  it  ! — it 
will  kill  me  ! I ought  to  have  told  you  long  ago, — but  I 
was  a coward, — I was  afraid, — I am  afraid  still  ! — but  I 
dare  not  hide  the  truth  from  you, — you  must  know  every- 
thing. I — I do  not  love  you,  Gaston  ! I have  never 
loved  you  as  you  ought  to  be  loved ; I never  knew  the 
meaning  of  love  till  now  ! ” ' 

Till  now ! What  did  these  words  imply?  I gazed  at 
her  in  dumb  blank  amazement, — my  brain  seemed  frozen. 
I could  not  think,  I could  hot  speak, — I only  knew,  in  a 
sort  of  dim  indistinct  way,  that  she  had  removed  herself 
from  my  embrace,  and  that  perhaps — perhaps  it  was, 
under  the  circumstances,  embarrassing  to  her  to  see  me 
kneeling  at  her  feet  in  such  devout,  adoring  fashion,  when, 
„ . . when  she  710  longer  loved  me ! She  no  longer  loved 
me  ! — I could  not  realize  it ; — and  still  less  could  I 
realize  that  she  never  had  loved  me  ! I got  up  slowly  and 
stood  beside  her,  resting  one  arm  on  the  mantelpiece, — 
my  limbs  shook  and  my  head  swam  round  stupidly, — and 
yet,  through  all  my  bewilderment,  I was  still  conscious  of 
her  misery, — conscious  of  her  tear-spoilt  eyes, — her 
white  face  and  quivering  lips, — and  of  the  unutterable 
despair  that  made  even  her  youthful  features  look  drawn 
and  old, — and  out  of  very  pity  for  her  woe-begone  aspect, 
I tried  to  master  the  sudden  shock  of  unexpected  wretch- 
edness that  overwhelmed  my  soul.  I tried  to  speak, — 
my  voice  seemed  gone, — and  it  was  only  after  one  or 
two  efforts  that  I managed  to  regain  command  of  lan- 
guage. 

“ This  is  strange,  news  ! ” I then  said,  in  hoarse  unsteady 
accents.  “ Very  strange  news,  Pauline  ! You  no  longer 
love  me? — You  have  never  loved  me  ? You  never  knew 
the  meaning  of  love  till  now  ? — Till  "now  ! — Pardon  me  if 
I do  not  understand, — I am,  no  doubt,  dull  of  comprehen- 


WORMWOOD. 


99 


sion, — but  such  words  from  your  lips  sound  terrible  to  mer 
» — unreal,  impossible  ! I must  have  been  dreaming  all 
this  while,  for— for  you  have  seemed  to  love  me — till  now,, 
as  you  say — till  now  !” 

She  sprang  from  her  chair  and  confronted  me,  her  hands 
extended  as  though  in  an  agony  of  supplication. 

“ Oh,  there  is  my  worst  sin,  Gaston ! ” she  wailed. 
“ There  is  the  treachery  to  you  of  which  I have  been 
guilty  ! I have  seemed  to  love  you — yes  ! and  it  was 
wicked  of  me — wicked — wicked — but  I have  been  blind 
and  desperate  and  mad,— and  I could  see  no  way  out  of 
the  evil  I have  brought  upon  myself, — no  way  but  this — 
to  tell  you  all  before  it  is  too  late — to  throw  myself  at 
your  feet — so  ! ” — and  she  flung  herself  wildly  down  before 
me — “ to  pray  to  you,  as  I would  pray  to  God, — to  ask 
you  to  pardon  me,  to  have  mercy  upon  me, — £nd,  above 
all  other  things,  to  generously  break  the  tie  between  us, — 
to  break  it  now — at  once  ! — and  to  let  me  feel  that  at 
least  I am  no  longer  wronging  your  trust,  or  injuring  your 
future  by  my  fault  of  love  for  one  who  has  grown  dearer 
to  me  than  you  could  ever  be, — dearer  than  life  itself, — 
dearer  than  honor,  dearer  than  my  own  soul’s  safety — 
dearer  than  God  ! ” 

She  spoke  with  an  almost  tempestuous  intensity  of 
passion, — and  I looked  at  her  where  she  crouched  on 
the  ground, — looked  at  her  in  a dull,  sick  wonderment. 
This  child — ^his  playful  pretty  trifler  with  time  and  the 
things  of  time,  was  transformed ; — from  a mere  charm- 
ing gracefully  frivolous  girl,  she  had  developed  into  a 
wild  tragedy  queen  ; and  the  change  had  been  effected 
by — what  ? Love  ! Love  for  what, — or  whom  ? Not 
for  me  ! — not  for  me — no  ! — for  some  one  else  ! Who 
was  that  some  one  else  ? This  question  gradually  as- 
serted itself  in  my  straying  stupefied  thoughts  as  the 
chief  thing  to  be  answered, — the  vital  poison  of  the 
whole  bitter  draught, — the  final  stab  that  was  to  com- 
plete the  murder.  As  I considered  it,  a new  and  awful 
instinct  rose  up  within  me, — the  thirst  for  revenge  that 
lurks  in  the  soul  of  every  man  and  beast — the  silently 
concentrated  fury  of  the  tiger  that  has  lain  so  long  in 
waiting  for  its  prey  that  its  brute  patience  is  well- 
nigh  exhausted, — and  involuntarily  I clenched  my  hands 
and  bit  my  lips  hard  in  the  sudden  and  insatiate  eager-* 


100 


WORMWOOD. 


ness  that  possessed  me,  to  know  the  name  of  my  rival  ! 
Again  I looked  down  on  Pauline’s  slight  shuddering 
figure,  and  became  hazily  conscious  that  she  ought  not  to 
kneel  there  as  a suppliant  to  me,  and, — stooping  a little, 
I held  out  my  hand,  which  she  caught  and  kissed  impul- 
sively. Ah,  Heaven  ! how  I trembled  at  that  caressing 
touch  ! 

“ Rise,  Pauline  ! ” I said,  trying  to  keep  my  voice  steady. 
Rise, — do  not  be  afraid  ! — I — I think  I understand, — 
I shall  realize  it  all  better  presently.  Perhaps  you  have 
never  quite  known  how  ardently  I have  loved  you, — with 
what  passionate  fervor, — with  what  adoring  tenderness  1 
and  what  you  say  to  me  now  is  a shock,  Pauline  ! — a cruel 
blow  that  will  numb  and  incapacitate  my  whole  life  ! But 
one  man’s  pain  does  not  matter  much,  does  it? — come, 
rise,  I beg  "of  you,  and  let  me  strive  to  get  some  clearer 
knowledge  of  this  sad  and  unexpected  change  in  your  feel- 
ings. You  do  not  love  me,  so  you  tell  me, — and  you 
never  have  loved  me.  You  own  to  having  played  the 
part  of  loving  me, — but  now  you  ask  me  to  break  the 
solemn  tie  between  us,  because  you  love  some  one  else, — 
have  I understood  you  thus  far  correctly  ?” 

She  had  sunk  back  again  in  the  chair  near  the  fire,  and 
her  pale  lips  whispered  a faint  affirmative.  I waited  a 
minute, — then  I asked — 

“ And  who,  Pauline, — who  is  that  some  one  else  ? ” 

“ Oh,  why  should  you  know  ! ” she  exclaimed,  the  tears 
filling  her  eyes  again.  “ Why  should  you  even  wish  to 
know  ! It  is  not  needful, — it  would  only  add  to  your 
unhappiness  ! I cannot  tell  you,  Gaston — I will  not ! ” 

I laughed, — a low  laugh  of  exceeding  bitterness.  The 
notion  of  her  keeping  such  a secret  from  me,  amused  me 
in  a vague  dull  way.  In  my  present  humor,  I felt  that  I 
could  have  ransacked  not  only  earth,  but  heaven  and  hell 
together  for  that  one  name  which  would  henceforth  be  to 
me  the  most  hateful  in  the  whole  world  ! But  I forced 
myself  to  be  gentle  with  her  ; I even  tried  to  persuade 
myself  into  the  idea  that  she  was  perhaps  exaggerating  a 
mere  transient  foolish  flirtation  into  the  tragic  height  of  a 
serious  love  affair — and  I was  under  the  influence  of  this 
impression  when  I spoke  again. 

“ Listen,  Pauline!  You  must  not  play  with  me  any 
longer — if  you  have  played  with  me,  I can  endure  n®  more 


WORMWOOD . 


IOI 


of  it ! I must  know  who  it  is  that  has  usurped  my  right- 
ful place  in  your  affections.  Do  not  try  to  conceal  it 
from  me, — it  will  only  be  doing  an  injury  to  yourself  and 
to — him  ! Is  it  some  one  you  have  met  lately?  And  is 
your  love  for  him  a mere  sudden  freak  of  fancy  ? — because 
if  so,  Pauline,  let  me  tell  you,  it  is  not  likely  to  last ! And 
so  great  and  deep  is  my  tenderness  for  you,  dear,  that  I 
could  even  find  it  in  my  heart  to  have  patience  with  this 
cruel  caprice  of  your  woman’s  nature— to  have  patience  to 
the  extent  of  waiting  till  it  passes  as  pass  it  must,  Pau- 
line ! — no  love  of  lasting  value  was  ever  kindled  with  such 
volcanic  suddenness  as  this  fickle  fancy  of  yours  ! Had 
the  famous  lovers  of  Verona  not  died,  they  must  have 
quarrelled  ! Your  words,  your  manner,  all  spring  from 
impulse,  not  conviction, — and  I should  be  wronging  you, 
— yes  ! actually  wronging  your  better  nature,  if  I were  to 
hastily  yield  to  your  strange  request  and  end  the  engage- 
ment between  us.  Why  should  I end  it  ? for  a wander- 
ing fitful  freak,  that  will  no  doubt  die  of  itself  as  rapidly 
as  it  came  into  being?  No,  Pauline  ! — our  contract  is  too 
solemn  and  too  binding  to  be  broken  for  a mere  girlish 
whim  1 ” 

“ But  it  must  be  broken  ! ” she  cried,  springing  to  her 
feet  and  confronting  me  with  a pale  majesty  of  despair 
that  moved  me  to  vague  awe.  “ It  must  be  broken  if  I 
die  to  break  it ! Whim  ! — fancy  ! — caprice  ! — Do  I look 
as*if  I were  led  by  a freak?  Can  you  not — will  you  not 
understand  me,  Gaston  ? Oh,  God  ! I thought  you  were 
more  merciful  !— I have  looked  upon  you  as  my  only 
friend; — I knew  you  were  the  very  soul  of  generosity — 
and  I have  clung  to  the  thought  of  your  tenderness  as  my 
only  chance  of  rescue  ! I cannot — I dare  not,  tell  them 
at  home, — I am  even  afraid  to  meet  Heloise  ! Oh, 
Gaston  ! only  you  can  shield  me  from  disgrace, — you  can 
release  me  if  you  will,  and  give  me  the  chance  of  freedom 
in  which  to  retrieve  my  fault ! — Gaston,  you  can  ! — you  can 
do  everything  for  me  ! — you  can  save  me  by  one  generous 
act — break  of!  our  engagement  and  say  to  all  the  world 
that  it  is  by  our  own  mutual  desire  ! Oh,  surely  you  can 
understand  now  ! — you  will  not  force  me  to  confess  all  my 
shame — -all  rny  dishonor  ! ” 

Shame  ! — dishonor  ! — Those  two  words,  and — Pauline  ! 
The  air  grew  suddenly  black  around  me, — black  as  black- 


102 


WORMWOOD. 


est  night, — then  bright  red  rings  swam  giddily  before  my 
eyes,  and  I caught  at  something,  I know  not  what,  to  save 
myself  from  falling.  A cold  dew  broke  out  on  my  brow 
and  hands,  and  I struggled  for  breath  in  deep  panting 
gasps,  conscious  of  nothing  for  the  moment,  except  that 
she  was  there,  and  that  her  wild  eyes  were  fixed  in  wide 
affright  upon  me.  Presently  I heard  her  voice  as  in  a 
dream,  cry  out  wailingly — 

“ Gaston  ! Gaston  ! Do  not  look  like  that  ! Oh,  God, 
forgive  me  ! what  have  I done  ! — what  have  I done  ! ” 
Slowly  the  black  mists  cleared  from  my  sight, — and  I 
seemed  to  reel  uncertainly  back  to  a sense  of  being. 

“ What  have  you  done  ? ” I muttered  hoarsely.  “ What 
have  you  done,  Pauline  ? — Why  nothing  ! — but  this, — you 
have  fallen  from  virtue  to  vileness  ! — and — you  have  killed 
me - — that  is  all  ! That  is  what  you  have  done — that , at 
last,  I understand — at  last ! ” 

She  broke  into  a piteous  sobbing, — but  her  tears  had 
ceased  to  move  him.  I sprang  to  her  side, — I seized  her 
arm. 

“ Now — now — quick  ! ” I said,  the  furious  passion  in  my 
voice  jarring  it  to  rough  discord — “ quick  ! — I can  wait 
no.Jonger  ! The  name — the  name  of  your  seducer  ! ” 

She  raised  her  eyes  full  of  speechless  alarm, — her  lips 
moved,  but 'no  sound  issued  from  them.  There  was  a 
suffocating  tightness  in  my  throat, — my  heart  leaped  to 
and  fro  in  my  breast  like  a savage  bird  in  a cage, — the 
wrath  that  possessed  me  was  so  strong  and  terrible  that  it 
made  me  for  the  moment  a veritable  madman. 

“ Oh  speak  ! ” I cried,  my  grasp  tightening  on  her  arm. 
“ Frail,  false,  fallen  woman,  speak  !— or  I shall  murder 
you  ! The  name  ! — the  name  ! ” 

Half  swooning  with  the  excess  of  her  terror,  she  vainly 
strove  to  disengage  herself  from  my  hold, — her  head 
drooped  on  her  bosom — her  eyes  closed  in  the  very 
languor  of  fear, — and  her  answering  whisper  stole  on  my 
strained  sense  of  hearing  like  the  last  sigh  of  the  dying — 
“ Silvion  Guide/ !” 

Silvion  Guidel ! — God  ! I burst  into  wild  laughter,  and 
flung  her  from  me  with  a gesture  of  fierce  disdain.  Sil- 
vion Guidel  ! — the  saint ! — the  angel ! — the  would-be- 
priest  ! — the  man  with  the  face  divine  ! Silvion  Guidel ! 
Detestable  hypocrite  ! — accursed  liar  ! — smiling  devil  I 


WORMWOOD . 


103 


Priest  or  no  priest,  he  should  cross  swords  with  me,  and 
thereby  probe  a great  mystery  presently  ! — not  a church- 
mystery,  but  a God-mystery — the  mystery  of  death  ) He 
should  die,  I swore,  if  I in  fair  fight  could  kill  him  ! Sil- 
vion  Guidel  ’ — my  friend  ! — the  “good  ” fellow  I had  act- 
ually revered  ! — he — he  had  made  of  Pauline  the  wrecked 
thing  she  was  ! — Ah,  Heaven  ! A wild  impulse  seized  me 
to  rush  out  of  the  house  and  find  him  wherever  he  might 
be,— to  drag  him  from  the  very  church  altar  if  he  dared  to 
pollute^  such  a place  by  his  traitorous  presence, — and 
make  him  then  and  there  answer  with  his  life  for  the  evil 
he  had  done ! My  face  must  have  expressed  my  raging 
thoughts, — for  suddenly  a vision  crossed  my  dazed  and 
aching  sight — the  figure  of  Pauline  grown  stately,  terrible, 
imperial,  as  any  ruined  queen. 

“ You  shall  not  harm  him ! ” she  said  in  low  thrilling 
tones  of  suppressed  passion  and  fear.  “Yofi  shall  not 
touch  a hair  of  his  head  to  do  him  wrong!  /will  pre- 
vent you  ! — I ! I would  give  my  life  to  shield  him  from 
a moment’s  pain  ! — and  you  dare — you  dare  to  think  of 
injuring  him  ! Oh  yes  ! I read  you  through  and  through  ; 
— you  have  reason,  I know,  to  be  cruel — and  you  may  kill 
me  if  you  like, — but  not  him  ! Have  I not  told  you  that 
I love  him  ? — Love  him  ? — I adore  him  ! I have  sacrificed 
everything  for  his  sake, — and  could  I sacrifice  more  than 
everything  I would  do  it ! — I would  burn  in  hell  forever, 
could  I be  sure  that  he  was  safe  and  happy  in  heaven  ! ” 

She  looked  at  me  straightly, — her  eyes  full  of  a mourn- 
ful exaltation, — her  breath  coming  and  going  rapidly  be- 
tween her  parted  lips.  I met  her  glance  with  an  amazed 
scorn, — and  hurled  the  bitter  truth  like  pellets  of  ice  upon 
the  amorous  heat  of  her  impetuous  avowal. 

“ Oh,  spare  me  your  protestations  ! ” I cried, — “ and 
spare  yourself  some  shred  of  shame  ! Do  not  boast  of 
your  iniquity  as  though  it  were  virtue  ! — do  not  blazon 
forth  your  criminal  passion  as  though  it  were  a glory  ! 
Heaven  and  Hell  of  which  you  talk  so  lightly,  may  be 
positive  and  awful  facts  after  all,  and  not  mere  names  to 
swear  by  ! — and  to  one  or  the  other  of  them  your  lover 
shall  go,  be  assured  ! — and  that  speedily  ! He  shall  die 
for  Jns  treachery  ! — he  shall  die,  I say  ! — if  the  sword  of 
honor  can  rid  the  world  of  so  perfidious  and  dastardly  a 
liar  ! ” 


104 


WORMWOOD. 


XI. 

As  I uttered  these  words  sternly  and  resolvedly,  a 
change  passed  over  her  face, — she  seemed  for  the  mo- 
ment to  grow  rigid  with  the  sudden  excess  of  her  fear. 
Then  she  threw  herself  once  more  on  her  knees  at  my 
feet. 

“ Gaston,  Gaston  ! — have  a little  mercy ! ” she  im- 
plored. “TJiink  of  my  deep, — my  utter  humiliation  ! Is 
it  so  much  that  I ask  of  you  after  all  ? — to  break  an 
engagement  with  a wretched  sinful  girl  who  has  proved 
herself  unworthy  of  you  ? Oh,  for  God*s  sake  set  me 
free  ! — and  we  will  go  away  from  Paris,  I and  Silvion — 
far,  far  away  to  some  distant  land  where  we  shall  be 
forgotten, — where  the  memory  of  us  need  trouble  you  no 
more  ? Listen,  Gaston  ! Silvion  trusts  to  your  noble 
nature  and  generous  heart,  even  as  I have  done — he  be- 
lieves that  you  will  have  pity  upon  us  both  ! We  loved 
each  other  from  the  first, — could  we  help  that  love, 
Gaston  ? — could  we  help  it  ? I told  you  I never  knew 
what  love  was  till  now,  and  that  is  true  ! — I was  so 
young  ! — I never  thought  I should  know  such  desperate 
joy,  such  terrible  misery,  such  madness,  such  reckless- 
ness, such  despair ! It  seems  that  I have  fallen  into 
some  great  resistless  river  that  carries  me  along  with  it 
against  my  will,  I know  not  where  ! — I have  deceived 
you,  I know,  and  I pray  your  pardon  for  that  deceit — but 
oh,  be  pitiful,  Gaston  ! — be  pitiful  ! — it  cannot  hurt  you  to 
be  generous ! If  you  ever  loved  me,  Gaston,  try  to 
forgive  me  now  ! ” 

1 looked  down  upon  her  in  silence.  There  was  a dull 
aching  in  my  brows, — a cold  chill  at  my  heart.  She 
seemed  removed  from  me  by  immeasurable  distance  ; — 
she,  the  once  innocent  child — the  pretty  graceful  girl, 
all  sweetness  and  purity, — what  was  she  now  ? Nothing 
but — the  toy  of  Silvion  Guidel  ! No  more  ! — she  had 


WORMWOOD . 


I0S 

entered  the  melancholy  ranks  of  the  ruined  sisterhood, — 
even  she,  Pauline  de  Charmilles,  only  daughter  of  one  of 
the  proudest  aristocrats  in  France  ! I shuddered, — and. 
an  involuntary  groan  escaped  my  lips,  Clasping  her 
hands,  she  raised  them  to  me  in  fresh  entreaty. 

“ You  will  be  gentle,  Gaston  ! — you  will  have  mercy  ? ” 

The  tension  of  my  nerves  relaxed, — the  scalding 
moisture  of  unfailing  tears  blinded  my  eyes — and  I gave 
vent  to  a long  and  bitter  sigh. 

“ Give  me  time,  Pauline  ! ” I answered  huskily. 
44  Give  me  time ! you  ask  much  of  me, — and  I have  never 
— like  your  lover — played  the  part  of  saint  or  angel.  I 
am  nothing  but  a man,  with  all  a man’s  passions  roused 
to  their  deadliest  sen£e  of  wrong, — do  not  expect  from 
me  more  than  man’s  strength  is  capable  of ! And  I 
have  loved  you  ! — my  God  ! — how  I have  loved  you  ! — 
far,  far  more  deeply  than  you  ever  guessed  ! Pauline, 
Pauline ! — my  love  was  honorably  set  upon  you  ! — I 
would  not  have  wronged  you  by  so  much  as  one  unruly 
thought!  You  were  to  me  more  sacred  than  the  Virgin’s 
statue  in  her  golden  nook  at  incense  time ; you  were  my 
God’s  light  on  earth — my  lily  of  heaven — my  queen — 
my  life — my  eternity — my  all  ! Pauline,  Pauline  ! ” — and 
my  voice  trembled  more  and  more  as  she  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands  and  wept  convulsively.  “ Alas,  you  cannot 
realize  what  you  have  done — not  yet!  You  cannot  in  the 
blindness  of  your  passion  $ee  how  the  world  will  slowly 
close  upon  you  like  a dark  prison  wherein  to  expiate 
in  tears  and  pain  your  sin, — you  do  not  yet  comprehend 
how  the  kindly  faces  you  have  known  from  childhood  will 
turn  from  you  in  grief  and  scorn,— how  friends  will 
shrink  from  and  avoid  you, — and  how  desolate  your  days 
will  be, — too  desolate,  Pauline,  for  even  your  betrayer’s 
love  to* cheer!  For  love  that  begins  in  crime  ends  in 
destruction, — its  evil  recoils  on  the  heads  of  those  that 
have  yielded  to  its  insidious  tempting, — and  thinking  of 
this,  Pauline,  I can  pity  you!  pity  you  more,  aye,  a thou- 
sand times  more  than  I should  pity  you  if  you  were 
dead ! I would  rather  you  had  died,  unhappy  child, 
than  lived  to  be  dishonored  1 ” 

She  made  no  reply,  but  still  covered  her  face,  and  still 
wept  on, — and,  steadying  my  nerves,  I bent  down  and 
raised  her  by  gentle  force  from  the  ground.  The  clock 


io6 


WORMV/OOD . 


struck  eleven  as  I did  so, — she  had  been  two  hours  with 
me, — it  was  full  time  she  should  return  as  quickly  as 
possible  to  her  home.  Acting  promptly  on  this  idea,  I 
gave  her  her  hat  and  cloak. 

“ Put  these  on  ! ” I said. 

She  removed  her  hands  from  her  eyes — such  woeful 
eyes  ! — all  swollen  and  red  with  weeping,  and  tremblingly 
obeyed  me — her  breast  heaving  with  the  sobs  she  could 
not  restrain. 

“ Now  come  with  me, — softly  !'”  And  I took  her  ice- 
cold  hand  in  mine  and  led  her  out  of  the  room  and  across 
the  darkened  passage,  where,  stopping  a moment  to 
hastily  don  my  overcoat  and  hat,  I cautiously  opened  the 
street-door  without  making  the  least  noise.  The  strong 
wind  blew  gusts  of  ram  in  our  faces, — and  I strove  to 
shelter  the  shivering  girl  as  best  I could  with  my  own 
body,  as  I closed  the  door  again  behind  us  as  quietly  as 
I had  opened  it.  Then  I turned  to  her  with  formal 
courtesy. 

“ You  must  walk  a little  way,  I am  afraid, — it  will  not 
be  wise  to  call  a carriage  up  to  this  very  house, — your 
departure  might  be  noticed.” 

She  came  down  the  steps  at  once  like  a blind  creature, 
seeming  scarcely  to  feel  her  way,  and  as  I observed  her 
feebleness,  and  the  tottering,  swaying  movement  of  her 
limbs,  my  own  wretchedness  was  suddenly  submerged  in 
an  overwhelming  wave  of  intense  compassion  for  her  fate. 
Involuntarily  I stretched  out  my  hand  to  save  her  from 
stumbling,  and,  in  the  very  extremity  of  my  anguish,  I 
cried — 

“ Oh,  Pauline  ! oh,  poor  little  pretty  Pauline  ! ” 

At  this  she  looked  up  wildly — and  with  a low  shudder- 
ing wail  fled  to  my  arms  and  clung  there  like  a scared 
bird,  panting  for  breath.  I held  her  to  my  heart  for  one 
despairing  minute — then, — remembering  all, — I strove 
for  fresh  mastery  over  my  feelings,  and,  putting  her  gently 
yet  firmly  away  from  my  embrace,  I supported  her  with 
one  arm  as  we  walked  some  little  distance  along. the 
flooded  pavement  in  the  full  opposing  force  of  the  wind. 
As  soon  as  I saw  a disengaged  close  carriage,  I hailed  its 
driver,  and,  assisting  Pauline  into  the  vehicle,  I took  my 
own  place  beside  her.  We  were  soon  borne  along  rapidly 
in  the  direction  of  the  Comte  de  CharmillesV  residence  ; 


WORMWOOD.  io? 

and  then  my  trembling  half-weeping  companion  seemed 
to  awake  to  new  fears. 

“ What  are  you  going  to  do,  Gaston  ? ” she  asked,  in  a 
nervous  whisper. 

“ Nothing  ! ” 

“ Nothing?”  she  echoed,  her  white  face  gleaming  like; 
the  face  of  a ghost,  in  the  yellow  glare  of  the  carriage 
lamps. 

“ Nothing — except  to  see  you  home  in  safety, — and 
afterwards  to  return  home  myself.” 

“ But — Silvion ” she  faltered. 

“ Do  not  be  alarmed,  mademoiselle  ! ” I said,  my  wrath 
rousing  itself  anew  at  the  bare  mention  of  his  name.  “ I 
shall  not  seek  him  to-night  at  any  rate.  It  is  too  late  to 
arrange  the  scores  between  us  ! ” 

“ Gaston  ! ” she  murmured  sobbingly.  “ I have  asked 
you  to  have  mercy ! ” 

“ And  I hawe  said  that  you  must  give  me  time,”  I 
responded.  “ I must  think  out  what  will  be  best  for  me 
to  do.  Meanwhile— for  the  immediate  present — your 

secret  is  safe  with  me, — I shall  tell  no  one  of  your — your 
” I could  not  finish  the  sentence — the  word  “ dis- 
honor ” choked  me  in  the  utterance. 

“ But  you  will  break  off  our  engagement,  will  you 
not  ?”  she  implored  anxiously.  “ You  will  tell  them  all 
that  we  have  changed  our  minds  ? — that  we  cannot  be 
married  ? ” 

I regarded  her  fixedly. 

“ I do  not  know  that  I shall  put  it  in  that  way,”  I 
answered.  “To  justify  my  own  conduct  in  breaking  off 
our  marriage,  I shall  of  course  find  it  necessary  to  tell 
your  father  the  cause  of  the  rupture.” 

She  shuddered  back  into  the  corner  of  the  carriage. 

“Oh,  it  will  kill  him  ! ” she  moaned.  “ It  will  kill  him,, 
I am  sure  ! ” 

“One  murder  more  or  less  scarcely  matters  in  such  a 
wholesale  slaughter  of  true  tenderness,”  I said  coldly. 
“ You  have  chosen  your  own  fate,  Pauline — and  you  must 
abide  by  it.  Will  your  lover  marry  you,  do  you  think* 
when  you  are  free  ? ” 

She  looked  up  quickly,  her  eyes  lightened  by  a sudden: 
hope. 

“ Yes  ; he  will — he  must ! He  has  sworn  it ! ” 


WORMWOOD. 


308 

“ Then  bid  him  fulfil  his  oath  at  once,”  I rejoined. 

Bid  him  set  you  right  as  far  as  he  can  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world  before  it  is  too  late.  If  this  is  done,  your  difficulty 
is  almost  dispensed  with, — you  need  trouble  yourself  no 
more  about  me  or  my  life’s  ruin  ! The  fact  of  a private 
marriage  having  been  consummated  between  you  and  M. 
Guidel  will  put  an  end  to  all  discussion,  so  far  as  I am 
concerned ! ” I 

A weary  puzzled  expression  crossed  her  features, — and 
I smiled  bitterly.  I knew — I felt  instinctively  that  he — 
after  the  fashion  of  all  traitor-seducers  of  women — would 
not  be  in  very  eager  haste  to  marry  his  victim. 

Just  then  we  turned  into  the  broad  beautiful  avenue 
where  the  Comte  de  Charmilles  had  his  stately,  but  now 
(alas  ! had  he  but  known  it  !)  ruined  home. 

“ Listen  ! ” I said,  bending  towards  her  and  empha- 
sizing my  words  impressively.  “ I will  release  you  from 
your  engagement  to  me  if  Silvion  Guidel  consents  to  wed 
you  immediately,  without  a day’s  delay ! Failing  this,  I 
must,  as  I told  you,  have  time  to  consider  as  to  what  will 
be  the  wisest  and  best  course  of  action  for  all  in  this 
terrible  affair.” 

The  carriage  stopped  ; we  descended, — and  I paid 
and  dismissed  the  driver.  Murmuring  feebly  that  she 
would  go  through  the  garden  and  enter  the  house  by  the 
large  French  window  of  the  morning-room  through  which 
she  had  secretly  made  her  exit,  Pauline  wrapped  her 
mantle  closely7  round  her,  and  there  in  the  storm  and  rain, 
raised  her  sorrowful  blue  eyes  once  more  to  mine  in  pas- 
sionate appeal. 

“ Pity  me,  Gaston  ! ” she  said — “ pity  me  ! Think  of 
my  shame  and  misery  i — and  think,  oh  think,  Gaston, 
that  y7ou  can  save  me  if  you  will ! God  make  you  kind 
to  me  ! ” 

And,  with  a faint  sobbing  sigh,  she  waved  her  hand 
feebly  in  farewell,  and  entering  the  great  armorial  gates, 
glided  round  among  the  trees  of  the  garden,  and,  like  a 
Bitting  phantom,  disappeared. 

Left  alone,  I stood  on  the  pavement  like  one  in  a 
dazed  dream.  The  icy  rain  beat  upon  me,  the  wild 
gale  tore  at  me, — and  I was  not  clearly  conscious  of 
cither  sleet  or  wind.  Once  I stared  up  at  the  black 
sky  where  the  scurrying  clouds  were  chasing  each  other 


WORMWOOD. 


l 


in  mountainous  heaps  of  rapid  and  dark  confusion, — »• 
and  in  that  one  glance,  the  lightning-truth  seemed  to  flash 
upon  me  with  more  deadly  vividness  than  ever, — the 
truth  that  for  me  the  world  was  at  an  end  ! Life,  and  the 
joys  and  hopes  and  ambitions  that  make  life  desirable,  all 
these  were  over — there  was  nothing  left  for  me  to  do  but 
to  drag  on  in  sick  and  dull  monotony  the  mechanical  bus- 
iness of  the  daily  routine  of  waking,  eating,  drinking,  sleep- 
ing,— a mere  preservation  of  existence,  when  existence 
had  forever  lost  its  charm  ! I was  roused  from  my  stupefied 
condition  by  the  noise  of  whefels,  and,  looking  up,  saw  the 
Comte  de  Charmilles,  carriage  coming, — he  and  his  wife 
were  returning  from  the  theatre, — and  in  case  they  should 
perceive  me  outside  their  house,  where  I still  lingered,  I 
strode  swiftly  away,  neither  knowing  nor  caring  in  which 
direction  I bent  my  steps.  Presently  I found  myself  om 
the  familiar  route  of  the  Champs  Elysees, — the  trees  there 
were  tossing  their  branches  wildly  and  groaning  at  the 
pitiless  destruction  wreaked  upon  their  tender  spring 
frondage  by  the  cruel  bla§t, — and,  weary  in  body  and 
mind,  I sat  down  on  one  of  the  more  sheltered  seats,, 
utterly  regardless  of  the  fact  that  I was  wet  through  and 
shivering,  and  try  to  come  to  some  sort  of  understanding, 
with  myself  Concerning  the  disaster  that  had  befallen  me. 
And  as  I thought,  one  by  one,  of  the  various  dreams  of 
ecstasy,  bright  moments  and  love-enraptured  days  that  had 
lately  been  mine,  I am  not  ashamed  to  say  that  I shed 
te^rs.  A man  may  weep  when  he  is  alone  surely ! — and  I 
wept  for  the  bitterest  loss  the  human  soul  can  ever  know, 
— the  loss  of  love,  and  the  loss  of  good  faith  in  the  honor  of 
men  and  women.  The  slow  drops  that  blinded  my  sight 
were  hot  as  fire, — they  burned  my  eye$  as  they  welled 
forth,  and  my  throat  ached  with  the  pain  of  them, — but  in 
a certain  measure  they  helped  to  clear  and  calm  my  brain, 
— the  storm  of  wrath  and  sorrow  in  my  mind  quieted  itself 
by  degrees, — and  I was  able  to  realize  not  only  the  extent 
of  my  own  cureless  grief,  but  also  that  of  the  unhappy 
girl  whom  over  and  over  again  I had  sworn  I would  die 
to  serve  ! 

Poor,  poor  Pauline  ! How  ill  she  looked, — how  pale — 
how  sad  ! Poor  little  child  ! — for  she  was  not  much  more 
than  a child  ; — and  thinking  of  her  youth,  her  impulsive- 
ness, and  her  unutterable  misery,  my  heart  softened  more 


3 10 


WORMWOOD, 


and  more  towards  her.  She  loved  Silvion  Guidel — Silvion 
Guidel  loved  her ; — they  were  both  young,  both  beautiful, 
— and  they  had  not  been  strong  enough  to  resist  the 
insidious  attraction  of  each  other’s  fairness.  They  had 
sinned, — they  had  fallen, — they  were  ashamed, — they  re- 
pented ; — they  sought  my  pardon, — and  I — should  I with- 
hold it  ? or  should  I,  like  a brave  man,  make  light  of  my 
own  wrong,  my  own  suffering,  and  heap  coals  of  fire  upon 
their  heads  by  my  free  forgiveness, — my  magnanimous  aid, 
to  help  them  out  of  the  evil  plight  into  which  they  had  wil- 
fully wandered  ? I asked  myself  this  question  many  times. 
I now  understood  the  strange  demeanor  of  Guidel  on  that 
night  when  he  had  asked  me  whether  I could  forgive  him  if 
he  had  sinned  greatly  ! His  conscience  had  tormented  him 
all  through, — he  had  surely  suffered  as  well  as  sinned ! 

Pressing  one  hand  hard  over  my  eyes,  and  choking 
back  those  foolish  tears  of  mine,  I strove  manfully  to  con- 
sider the  whole  wretched  story  from  the  most  merciful 
point  of  view  possible  to  my  nature.  I had  been  brought 
up  under  my  father’s  vigilant  care,  on  lines  of  broad 
thought,  strict  honor,  and  practical,  not  theoretical,  phi- 
losophy,— his  chief  idea  of  living  nobly  being  this, — to  do 
good  always  when  good  could  be  done,  and  when  not,  at 
at  any  rate  to  refrain  from  doing  evil.  If  I believed  in 
these  precepts  at  all,  now,  surely,  was  the  time  to  act  upon 
them.  I could  never  win  back  Pauline’s  love, — that  had 
been  stolen,  or  else  had  gone  of  its  own  free  will  to  my 
rival, — but  I had  it  in  my  power  to  make  her  happy  and 
respected  once  more.  How?  Nothing  was  easier.  In 
the  first  place  I would  go  to  the  good  Pere  Vaudron,  and 
tell  him  all  the  truth,  in  confidence  ; — I would  ask  him  to 
see  that  the  civic  rite  of  marriage  was  performed  at  once 
between  his  nephew  and  Pauline  secretly,— I would  aid 
the  wedded  lovers  with  money,  should  they  require  it,  to 
leave  Paris  immediately, — and  when  .once  their  departure 
"was  safely  assured,  I would  break  the  whole  thing  to  the 
Comte  de  Charmilles,  and  accept  whatever  wrath  he 
chose  to  display  on  my  own  devoted  head.  Thus,  I should 
wrin  Pauline’s  eternal  gratitude, — her  parents  would  in  time 
become  reconciled  to  their  change  of  a son-in-law, — and 
all  would  be  well.  I, — only  I would  be  the  lasting  sufferer 
— but  should  not  a true  man  be  ready  and  willing  to 
sacrifice  himself,  if  by  so  doing,  he  can  render  the  one 


WORMWOOD. 


11% 

woman  he  loves  in  all  the  world,  happy  ? Still, — on  the 
other  hand,  there  was  the  more  natural  plan  of  vengeance, 
— one  word  to  Pauline’s  father,  and  she  would  be  shamed 
and  disgraced  beyond  recall, — I could  then  challenge  Sil- 
vion  Guidel  and  do  my  best  to  kill  him,  in  which  effort  I 
should  most  probably  succeed,  and  so  bring  misery  on 
poor  old  Vaudron  and  his  simple  folk  in  Brittany, — I 
could  do  all  this,  and  yet,  after  all  was  done,  I myself 
should  be  as  wretched  as  ever ! I thought  and  thought* 
I pondered  till  my  brows  ached, — the  good  and  the  evil 
side  of  my  nature  fought  desperately  together,  while  my 
consciousness,  like  a separate  watchful  person  apart* 
seemed  totally  unable  to  decide  which  would  win.  It  was 
a sore  contest ! — the  struggle  of  the  elements  around  me 
was  pot  more  fierce  than  the  struggle  in  my  own  tormented 
soul, — but  through  all,  the  plaintive  voice  of  Pauline, — - 
Pauline  whom  I still  loved,  alas ! — rang  in  my  ears  with 
that  last  sobbing  cry, — “ Pity  me,  Gaston  ! God  make 
you  kind  to  me  ! ” — till  gradually,  very  gradually,  I won 
the  mastery  over  my  darker  passions, — won  it  with  a 
sense  of  warm  triumph  such  as  none  can  understand  save 
him  that  has  been  tempted  and  has  steadily  overcome 
temptation.  I resolved  that  I would  save  Pauline  from 
the  consequences  of  her  rash  blind  error, — and  so,  at  any 
rate,  be  at  peace  with  the  Eternal  Witness  of  Heaven  and 
my  own  conscience  ! This  I decided,  finally  and  fixedly* 
— determining  to  pursue  my  plan  for  the  re-establishment 
of  the  honor  and  safety  of  the  woman  who  trusted  me* 
the  very  first  thing  the  next  day, — and  I would  say  noth- 
ing to  any  one,  not  even  to  my  father, — till  my  work  of 
forgiveness  and  help  was  carried  out  and  completed  be- 
yond recall ! 

Here  let  me  pause.  Do  you  understand,  you,  whoso- 
ever you  are,  that  read  these  pages, — do  you  thoroughly 
understand  my  meaning  ? If  not,  let  me  impress  it  upon 
you  plainly,  once  and  for  all, — for  I would  not  have  the 
dullest  wits  misjudge  me  at  this  turning  point  of  time  ! 
I had  absolutely  made  up  my  mind, — mark  you  ! — to  do 
my  best  for  her  who  had  played  me  false  ! Absolutely 
and  unflinchingly.  For  I loved  her  in  spite  of  her 
treachery  ! — I cared  to  be  remembered  in  her  prayers  ! — 
I who,  in  the  hot  fervor  of  my  adoration  for  her  beauty* 
had  declared  that  I would  die  for  her,  was  now  willing  to* 


112 


WORMWOOD. 


carry  out  that  vow, — to  die  spiritually — to  crush  all  my 
own  clamorous  affections  and  desires  for  her  sake,  that 
all  might  be  well  with  her  in  days  present  and  to  come  ! 
Remember,  I was  willing — and  not  only  willing,  but  ready  I 
Not  because  I seek  pity  from  you,  do  I ask  it, — world’s 
pity  is  a weak  thing  that  none  but  cowards  need.  I only 
want  justice, — aye  ! if  it  be  but  the  mere  glimmering  jus- 
tice of  your  slowest,  sleepiest  comprehension, — give  me 
£nough  of  it  to  grasp  this  one  fact — namely,  that  on  the 
night  of  the  bitterest  suffering  of  my  life — the  night  on 
which  I learned  my  own  betrayal,  I had  prepared  myself 
to  forgive  the  unhappy  child  who  had  wronged  me,  as 
freely,  as  entirely,  as  I then  hoped,  before  God,  to  be,  in 
any  turn,  forgiven ! 


w ORM  WOOD. 


HI 


XII. 

I do  not  know  how  long  I sat  on  that  seat  in  the  Champs 
Elysees,  with  the  tempestuousv  rain  beating  down  upon 
me,  the  desperate  conflict  I had  had  with  my  own,  worser 
self  had  rendered  me  insensible  to  the  flight  of  time.  So 
numbed  was  I with  outward  cold  and  inwald  misery, — so 
utterly  blind  to  all  external  surroundings,  that  I was  as 
startled  as  though  a pistol-shot  had  been  fired  close  to 
me  when  a hand  fell  on  my  shoulder,  and  a harsh,  half- 
laughing voice  exclaimed — 

“ Gaston  Beauvais,  by  all  the  gods  and  goddesses  ! 
Gaston  Beauvais  drenched  as  a caught  rat  in  a relent- 
less housekeeper’s  pail  ! What  the  devil  are  you  doing 
here  at  this  time  of  night,  mon  beau  riche  ? You,  wgh 
limitless  francs  at  your  command,  and  good  luck  shower- 
ing its  honey.-dew  persistently  on  your  selected  fortunate 
head, — what  may  be  your  object  in  thus  fraternizing  with 
the  elements  and  striving  to  match  them  groan  for  groan, 
scowl  for  scowl  ? By  my  faith  ! — I can  hardly  believe 
that  this  soaked  and  dripping  bundle  of  good  clothes 
spoilt  is  actually  yourself  ! ” 

I looked  up,  forced  a smile,  and  held  out  my  hand.  I 
recognized  the  speaker, — indeed  he  was  too  remark^ 
able  a character  in  his  way  to  be  for  an  instant  mis- 
taken. All  Paris  knew  Andre  Gessonex, — a poor 

wretch  of  an  artist,  who  painted  pictures  that  were 

too  extraordinary  and  risqub  for  any  respectable  house- 
holder to  buy,  and  who  eked  out  a bare  living  by  his 
decollete  sketches,  in  black  and  white,  of  ail  the  noted 
danseuses  and  burlesque  actresses  in  the  city.  His 

bizarre  figure  clad  in  its  threadbare  and  nondescript 
garb  was  familiar  to  every  frequenter  of  the  Boulevards, 
— and,  in  truth,  it  was  eccentric  enough  to  attract 

the  most  casual  stranger’s  attention.  His  pinched  and 
shrunken  legs  were  covered  with  the  narrowest  possible 


II* 


WORMWOOD. 


trousers,  which,  by  frequent  turning  up  to  make  the  best 
of  the  worn  ends,  had  now  become  so  short  for  him  that 
they  left  almost  a quarter  of  a yard  of  flaring  red  sock 
exposed  to  view, — his  thin  jacket,  the  only'one  he  had 
for  both  winter  and  summer,  was  buttoned  tightly  across 
his  chest  to  conceal  the  lack  of  the  long-ago  pawned 
waistcoat, — a collar,  with  very  large,  unstarched  soiled 
ends,  flapped  round  his  skinny  throat,  relieved  by  a 
brilliant  strip  of  red  flannel  which  served  as  tie, — 
he  kept  his  hair  long  in  strict  adherence  to  true  ar- 
tistic tradition,  and  on  these  bushy,  half-gray,  always  dis- 
ordered locks  he  wore  a very  battered  hat  of  the  “ brig- 
and ” shape,  which  had  been  many  times  inked  over 
to  hide  its  antique  rustiness,  and  which  he  took  the 
greatest  pains  to  set  airily  on  one  side,  to  suggest,  as 
he  once  explained,  indifference  to  the  world,  and  gay 
carelessness  as  to  the  world’s  opinions.  Unlucky  devil  l 
— I had  always  pitied  him  from  my  heart, — and  many  a 
twenty-franc  piece  of  mine  had  found  its  way  into  his 
pocket.  A cruel  fate  had  bestowed  on  him  genius  with- 
out common-sense,  and  the  perfectly  natural  result  of 
suSh  an  endowment  was,  that  he  starved.  He  was  full 
of  good  and  ev&n  fine  ideas, — there  were  times  when  he 
seemed  to  sparkle  all  over  with  felicity  of  wit*  and  poetry 
of  expression, — many  men  liked  him,  and  not  only  liked 
him,  but  strove  to  assist  him  substantially,  without  ever 
succeeding  in  their  charitable  endeavors.  For  Andre 
was  one  of  Creation’s  incurables, — neither  money  nor 
advice  ever  benefited  him  one  iota.  Give  him  the  com- 
mission to  paint  a picture, — and  he"  would  produce  a 
Titanesque  canvas,  too  big  for  anything  but  a cathedral, 
and  on  that  canvas  he  would  depict  the  airiest  nude 
personages  disporting  themselves  in  such  a frankly  in- 
delicate manner,  that  the  intending  purchaser  withdrew 
his  patronage  in  shuddering  haste  and  alarm,  and  fled 
without  leaving  so  much  as  the  odor  of  a franc  behind. 
Thus  the  poor  fellow  was  always  unfortunate,  and  when 
taken  to  task  and  told  that  his  ill-luck  was  entirely  his 
own  fault,  he  would  assume  an  air  of  the  most  naive 
bewilderment. 

“ You  amaze  me  ! ” he  would  say.  “ You  really  amaze 
me  ! I am  not  to  blame  if  these  people  who  want  to  buy 
pictures  have  no  taste  ! I cannot  paint  Dutch  interiors. 


WORMWOOD . 


JI5 


—the  carrot  waiting  to  be  peeled  on  the  table, — the  fat 
old  woman  cutting  onions  for  the  pot-au-feu , — the  cen- 
tenarian gentleman  with  a perpetual  cold  in  his  head, 
who  bends  over  a brazier  to  warm  his  aged  nose,  while  a 
dog  and  two  kittens  gaze  up  confidingly  at  his  wrinkled 
hands, — this  is  not  in  my  fine  ! I can  only  produce 
grand  art  ! — classical  subjects, — Danae  in  her  brazen 
tower, — Theseus  and  Ariadne — the  amours  of  Cybele  with 
Atys — or  the  triumphs  of  Venus; — I cannot  descend  to 
the  level  'of  ordinary  vulgar  minds  ! Let  me  be  poor — 
let  me  starve — but  let  me  keep  my  artistic  conscience  ! 
A grateful  posterity  may  recognize  what  this  frivolous 
age  condemns  ! ” 

Such  was  the  man  who  now  stood  before  me  like  a 
gaunt  spectre  in  the  rain,  his  dull  peering  eyes  brighten- 
ing into  a faint  interest  as  he  fixed  them  on  mine.  His 
face  betokened  the  liveliest  surprise  and  curiosity  at 
meeting  me  out  there  at  night  and  in  such  weather,  and  I 
could  not  at  once  master  my  voice  sufficiently  to  answer 
him.  He  waited  one  or  two  minutes,  and  then  clapped 
me  again  on  the  shoulder. 

“ Have  you  lost  your  speech,  Beauvais,  or  your 
strength,  or  your  courage,  or  what  ? You  look  alarm- 
ingly ill  ! — will  you  take  my  arm  ? ” 

There  was  a friendly  solicitude  about  him  that  touched 
me, — another  time  I might  have  hesitated  to  be  seen  with 
such  an  incongruous  figure  as  he  was, — he,  whose  mock- 
tragic  manner  and  jaunty  style  of  walk  had  been  mimicked 
and  hooted  at  by  all  the  little  gamins  of  Paris, — but  the 
hour  was  late,  and  I felt  so  utterly  wretched,  so  thrown 
out,  as  it  were,  from  all  sympathy,  so  destitute  of  all  hope, 
that  I was  glad  of  even  this  forlorn  starveling’s  company, 
and  I,  therefore,  took  his  proffered  arm, — an  arm  the 
very  bone  of  which  I could  feel  sharply  protruding 
through  the  thin  worn  sleeve. 

“ I am  rather  out  of  my  usual  line ! ” I then  said, 
striving  to  make  light  of  my  condition.  “ Sitting  out  in 
the  rain  on  a dreary  night  like  this  is  certainly  not  amus- 
ing. But — when  one  is  in  trouble ” 

“ Trouble  ! — Ah  ! ” exclaimed  Gessonex,  lifting  his  dis- 
engaged hand,  clenching  it,  and  shaking  it  at  the  frowning 
sky  with  a defiant  air.  “Trouble  is  the  fishing-net  of  the 
amiable  Deity  up  yonder,  whom  none  of  us  can  see,  and 


WORMWOOD . 


116 

whom  few  of  us  want  to  know  ! Down  it  drops,  that  big 
black  net,  out  of  the  clouds,  quite  unexpectedly,  and  we 
are  all  dragged  into  it,  struggling  and  sprawling  for  dear 
life,  just  like  the  helpless  fish  we  ourselves  delight  to 
catch  and  kill  and  cook  and  devour  ! We  are  all  little 
gods  down  here,  each  in  our  own  way, — and  the  great 
One  above  (if  there  is  one  !)  can  only  be  an  enlarged 
pattern  of  our  personalities, — for,  according  to  the  Bible-, 
‘He  made  us  in  His  own  imaged  And  so  you  are 
caught,  mon  ami  ? That  is  bad  ! — but  let  me  not  forget 
to  mention,  that  there  are  a few  large  holes  in  the  net 
through  which  those  that  have  gold  about  them  can 
easily  slip  and  escape  scot  free  ! ” 

Poor  Gessonex ! He,  like  all  hungry  folk,  imagined 
money  to  be  a cure  for  every  evil. 

“ My  good  fellow,”  I said  gently,  “ there  are  some 
griefs  that  can  follow  and  persecute  to  the  very  death 
even  Croesus  among  his  bags  of  bullion.  I begin  to 
think  poverty  is  one  of  the  least  of  human  misfortunes.” 

“ Absolutely  you  are  right ! ” declared  Gessonex,  with 
an  air  of  triumph.  “ It  is  a sort  of  thing  you  so  soon  get 
accustomed  to  ! It  sits  upon  one  easily,  like  an  old  coat ! 
You  cease  to  desire  a dinner  if  you  never  have  it ! — it 
is  quite  extraordinary  how  the  appetite  suits  itself  to 
circumstances,  and  puts  up  with  a cigar  at  twenty 
centimes  instead  of  a filet  for  one  franc  ! — the  filet  is 
actually  not  missed  ! And  what  a number  of  remarkable 
cases  we  have  had  shown  lo  us  lately  in  the  field  of 
science,  of  men  existing  for  a long  period  of  time,  without 
any  nourishment  save  water  ! I have  been  deeply  inter- 
ested in  that  subject,— I believe  in  the  system  thoroughly, 
— I have  tried  it  (for  my  own  amusement  of  course  !) 
Yes  ! — I have  tried  it  for  several  days  together ! I find 
it  answers  very  well  ! — it  is  apt  to  make  one  feel  quite 
light  upon  one’s  feet, — almost  aerial  in  fact,  and  ready  to 
fly,  as  if  one  were  disembodied  ! — most  curious  and 
charming ! ” • 

My  heart  smote  me, — the  man  was  starving  and  my 
purse  was  full.  I pressed  his  meagre  arm  more  closely, 
and  for  the  time  forgot  my  own  sorrows  in  consideration 
for  his  needs. 

“ Let  us  go  and  sup  somewhere,”  I said  hastily^ 
“ Any  place  near  at  hand  will  do.  A basin  of  hot  .soup 


WORMWOOD . 


ii  7 

will  take  off  the  chill  of  this  downpour, — I am  positively 
wet  through  ! ” 

“You  are,  mon  ami, — that  is  a lamentable  fact  ! ” 
rejoined  Gessonex  affably — “ and,— apart  from  the  con- 
dition of  those  excellent  clothes  of  yours,  which  are 
ruined,  I regret  to  observe, — you  will  most  likely  wake 
up  to-morrow  with  a violent  cold.  And  a cold  is  not 
becoming — it  spoils  the  face  of  even  a pretty  woman. 
So  that  if  you  really  believe  the  hot  soup  will  be  bene- 
ficial to  you, — (as  far  as  I am  concerned,  I find  the  cold 
water  nourishment  singularly  agreeable !)  why,  I will 
escort  you  to  a very  decent  restaurant,  where  you  can 
procure  a really  superb  bouillon — superb,  I assure  you  ! — 
I have  often  inhaled  the  odor  of  it  en  passant  f” 

And,  quickening  his  steps  unconsciously,  out  of  the 
mere  natural  impulse  of  the  hungry  craving  he  could  not 
quite  repress,  he  walked  with  me  out  of  the  Champs 
Elysees  and  across  the  Place  de  la  Concorde, — thence 
over  one  of  the  bridges  spanning  the  Seine,  and  so  on, 
till  we  reached  a dingy  little  building  in  a side  street, 
over  which,  in  faded  paint,  was  inscribed  “ Grand  Cafe 
Bonhomme.  Restaurant  pour  tout  le  monde.”  The 
glass  doors  were  shut,  and  draped  with  red  curtains, 
through  which  the  interior  lights  flung  a comfortable  glow 
on  the  sloppy  roadway,  and  Gessonex  pointed  to  this 
with  the  most  fervent  admiration. 

“ What  a charm  there  is  about  the  color  red  ! ” he 
exclaimed  enthusiastically.  “ It  is  so  suggestive  of 
warmth  and  brilliancy  ! It  is  positively  fascinating ! — 
and  in  my  great  picture  of  Apollo  chasing  Daphne,  I 
should  be  almost  tempted  to  use  folds  of  red  drapery 
were  it  not  for  the  strict  necessity  of  keeping  the  figures 
nude.  But  the  idea  of  a garmented  god  fills  me  with 
horror! — as  well  paint  Adam  and  Eve  decorously  adorned 
with  fig-leaves  before  the  fall ! — that  is  what  a contem- 
porary of  mine  has  just  done, — ha  ha!  Fig-leaves  before 
the  fall ! Excellent ! — ah,  very  amusing  ! ” 

Opening  the  cafe  doors  he  beckoned  me  to  follow.  1 
did  so  half  mechanically,  my  only  idea  for  the  moment 
being  that  he,  Gessonex,  should  get  a good  meal  for 
once, — I knew  that  I myself  would  not  be  able  to  taste 
anything.  There  were  omy  two  or  three  people  in  the 
place ; — a solitary  waiter,  whom  X 7 ad  perceived  comb- 


n8 


/ VO A’ Mil  O 


ing  his  hair  carefully  in  the  background,  came  forward 
to  receive  instructions,  and  cleared  a table  for  us  in  a 
rather  retired  corner  where  we  at  once  sat  down.  I then 
ordered  soup,  and  whatever  else  was  ready  to  be  had  hot 
and  savory,  while  Andre  gingerly  lifted  his  brigand  hat 
and  placed  it  on  a convenient  nail  above  him,  using  so 
much  precaution  in  this  action,  that  I suppose  he  feared 
it  might  come  to  pieces  in  his  hands.  Then,  running  his 
fingers  through  his  matted  locks,  he  rested  his  elbows 
comfortably  on  the  table,  and  surveyed  me  smilingly. 

“ Mon  cher  Beauvais,”  he  said,  “ I feel  as  if  there  were 
a mystical  new  bond  between  us ! I always  liked  you, 
as  you  know, — but  you  were  removed  from  me  by  an  im- 
mense gulf  of  difference, — this  difference  being  that  you 
were  never  in  trouble,  and  I,  as  you  must  be  aware, 
always  was  and  always  am  ! But  do  not  imagine  that  it 
is  pleasant  to  me  to  see  you  wriggling  fish-like  on  the 
bon  Dieu's  disagreeably  sharp  hook  of  calamity — au 
contraire , it  infinitely  distresses  me, — but  still,  if  anything 
can  make  men  brothers  it  is  surely  a joint  partnership  in 
woe ! All  the  same,  Beauvais  ” — and  he  lowered  his 
voice  a little — “ I am  sincerely  sorry  to  find  you  so  cast 
down ! ” 

I made  a mute  sign  of  gratitude, — he  was  looking  at 
me  intently,  stroking  his  peaked  beard  the  while. 

“ Nothing  financially  wrong?”  he  hinted  delicately, 
after  a pause. 

“ My  good  Andre  ! — Nothing  ! ” 

“ I am  glad  of  that ! ” he  rejoined  sedately,  “ for  nat- 
urally I could  be  no  sort  of  service  to  you  in  any  ques- 
tion of  cash.  A money  difficulty  always  appeals  to  me 
in  vain  ! But  for  any  private  vexation  of  a purely 
emotional  and  yet  excessively  irritating  nature,  I think  I 
know  a cure  ! ” 

1 forced  a smile.  “ Indeed  ! ” 

He  nodded  gravely,  and  his  eyes  dilated  with  a cer- 
tain peculiar  bright  limpidness  that  I and  others  had 
often  noticed  in  them  whenever  the  “ mad  painter,”  as  he 
was  sometimes  called,  was  about  to  be  more  than  usually 
eloquent. 

“ For  the  heart’s  wide  wounds  which  bleed  inter- 
nally ; — for  the  grief  of  a lost  love  which  can  never  be 
rep’Tncd  **  hr*  rnd  * 11  for  t^e  stm,~ir 


WORMWOOD . 


119 

of  remorse,  and  the  teasing  persecutions  of  conscience, 
— for  all  these,  and  more  than  these,  I can  find  a rem- 
edy ! For  the  poison  of  memory  I can  provide  an  an- 
tidote,— a blessed  balm  that  soothes  the  wronged 
spirit  into  total  forgetfulness  of  its  injury,  and  opens 
before  the  mind  a fresh  and  wondrous  field  of  vision, 
where  are  found  glories  that  the  world  knows  nothing  of, 
and  for  the  enjoyment  of  which  a man  might  be  well  con- 
tent to  starve  and  suffer,  and  sacrifice  everything — even 
love ! ” 

His  harsh  voice  had  grown  musical, — a faint  smile 
rested  on  his  thin  pale  lips, — and  I gazed  at  him  in  vague 
surprise  and  curiosity. 

“ What  are  you  poetizing  about  now,  Gessonex  ? ” I 
asked  half  banteringly,  u What  magic  Elixir  Vitae  thus 
excites  your  enthusiasm  ? ” 

He  made  no  answer,  as  just  then  the  supper  arrived, 
and,  rousing  himself  quickly  as  from  a reverie,  his  eyes 
lost  their  preternatural  light,  and  all  his  interest  "be- 
came centred  in  the  food  before  him.  Poor  fellow ! — 
how  daintily  he  ate,  feigning  reluctance,  yet  lingering 
over  every  morsel ! How  he  rated  the  waiter  for  not 
bringing  him  a • damask  serviette, — how  haughtily  he 
complained  of  the  wine  being  corked,  — and  how 
thoroughly  he  enjoyed  playing  the  part  of  a fastidious 
epicure  and  fine  gentleman  ! My  share  in  the  repast  was 
a mere  pretence,  and  he  perceived  this,  though  he  re- 
frained from  any  comment  upon  my  behavior  while  the 
meal  was  yet  in  progress.  But  as  soon  as  it  was  ended, 
and  he  was  smoking  the  cigarette  I had  offered  him,  he 
leaned  across  the  table  and  addressed  me  once  more  in  a 
low  confidential  tone. 

“ Beauvais,  you  have  eaten  nothing  ! ” 

I sighed  impatiently.  “ Mon  cher,  I have  no  appetite.” 

“Yet  you  are  wet  through, — you  shiver  ? ” 

I shrugged  my  shoulders.  “ Soif?  ” 

“ You  will  not  even  smoke  ? ” 

u To  oblige  you,  I will  and  I opened  my  case  of 
cigarettes  and  lit  one  forthwith,  hoping  by  this  com- 
plaisance to  satisfy  his  anxiety  on  my  behalf.  But  lie 
rose  suddenly,  saying  no  word  to  me,  and  crossing  over 
to  where  the  waiter  stood,  talked  with  him  very  earnestly 
and  emphatically  for  a minute  or  two.  Then  he  returned 


120 


WORMWOOD. 


leisurely  to  his  seat  opposite  me,  and  I looked  at  him 
inquiringly. 

“ What  have  you  been  ordering  ? A cognac  ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ What  then  ? ” 

“ Oh,  nothing  ! only — absinthe .” 

“ Absinthe  ! ” I echoed.  “ Do  you  like  that  stuff  ? ” 

His  eyes  opened  wide,  and  flashed  a strangely  piercing* 
glance  at  me. 

“ Like  it  ? I love  it  ! And  you  ? 

“ I have  never  tasted  it.” 

“ Never  tasted  it ! ” exclaimed  Gessonex  amazedly. 
u Mon  Dieu  ! You,  a born  and  bred  Parisian,  have  never 
tasted  absinthe  ? ” 

* I smiled  at  his  excitement. 

“ Never  ! I have  seen  others  draining  it  often, — but  I 
have  not  liked  the  look  of  it  somehow.  A repulsive  color 
to  me, — that  medicinal  green  ! ” 

He  laughed  a trifle  nervously,  and  his  hand  trembled. 
But  he  gave  no  immediate  reply,  for  at  that  moment 
the  waiter  placed  a flacon  of  the  drink  in  question  on 
the  table,  together  with  the  usual  supply  of  water  and 
tumblers.  Carefully  preparing  and  stirring  the  opaline 
mixture,  Gessonex  filled  the  glasses  to  the  brim,  and 
pushed  one  across  to  me.  I made  a faint  sign  of  rejec- 
tion. He  laughed  again,  in  apparent  amusement  at  my 
hesitation. 

“ By  Venus  and  Cupid,  and  all  the  dear  old  heathen 
deities  who  are  such  remarkably  convenient  myths  to  take 
one’s  oath  upon,”  he  said,  “I  hope  you  will  not  compel 
me  to  consider  you  a fool,  Beauvais  ! What  an  idea  that 
is  of  yours, — 6 medicinal  green  9 ! Think  of  melted  emer- 
alds instead  ! There,  beside  you,  you  have  the  most  mar- 
vellous cordial  in  all  the  world, — drink  and  you  will  find 
your  sorrows  transmuted — yourself  transformed  ! Even 
if  no  better  result  be  obtained  than  escaping  from  the 
chill  you  have  incurred  in  this  night’s  heavy  drenching, 
that  is  surely  something  ! Life  without  absinthe  1 — I 
cannot  imagine  it ! For  me  it  would  be  impossible  ! I 
should  hang,  drown,  or  shoot  myself  into  infinitude,  out  of 
sheer  rage  at  the  continued  cruelty  and  injustice  of  the 
world, — but  with  this  divine  nectar  of  Olympus  I can 
defy  misfortune  and  laugh  at  poverty,  as  though  these 


WORMWOOD. 


12* 

were  the  merest  bagatelles  / Come  ! — to  your  health,  mon 
brave  / Drink  with  me  ! ” 

He  raised  his  glass  glimmering  pallidly  in  the  light, — 
his  words,  his  manner,  fascinated  me,  and  a curious  thrill 
ran  through  my  veins.  There  was  something  spectral  in 
his  expression  too,  as  though  the  skeleton  of  the  man  had 
become  suddenly  visible  beneath  its  fleshly  covering, — as 
though  Death  had  for  a moment  peered  through  the  veil 
of  Life.  I fixed  my  eyes  doubtingly  on  the  pale-green 
liquid  whose  praises  he  thus  sang — had  it  indeed  such  a 
potent  charm  ? Would  it  still  the  dull  aching  at  my 
heart, — the  throbbing  in  my  temples, — the  sick  weariness 
and  contempt  of  living,  that  had  laid  hold  upon  me  like  a 
fever  since  I knew  Pauline  was  no  longer  my  own  ? Would 
it  give  me  a brief  respite  from  the  inner  fret  of  torment- 
ing thought  ? It  might ! — and,  slowly  lifting  the  glass  to 
my  lips,  I tasted  it.  It  was  very  bitter  and  nauseous, — 
and  I made  a wry  face  of  disgust  as  I set  it  •down.  The 
watchful  Gessonex  touched  my  arm. 

“ Again  ! ” he  whispered  eagerly,  with  a strange  smile. 
“Once  again  ! It  is  like  vengeance, — bitter  at  first,  but 
sweet  at  last ! Mon  cher , if  you  were  not, — as  I see  you 
are, — a prey  to  affliction,  I would  not  offer  you  the  knowl- 
edge of  this  sure  consolation, — for  he  that  is  not  sad  needs 
no  comfort.  But  supposing — I only  guess,  of  course  ! — 
supposing  your  mind  to  be  chafed  by  the  ever  present 
memory  of  some  wrong — some  injury — some  treachery — 
even  some  love-betrayal, — why  then,  I fail  to  see  why  you 
should  continue  to  suffer  when  the  remedy  for  all  such 
suffering  is  here ! ” And  he  sipped  the  contents  of  his 
own  glass  with  an  air  of  almost  inspired  ecstasy. 

I looked  at  him  fixedly.  An  odd  tingling  sensation  was 
in  my  blood,  as  though  it  had  been  suddenly  touched  by 
an  inward  fire. 

“ You  mean  to  tell  me,”  I said  incredulously,  “ that 
Absinthe, — which  I have  heard  spoken  of  as  the  curse  of 
Paris, — is  a cure  for  all  human  ills  ? That  it  will  not  only 
ward  off  physical  cold  from  the  body,  but  keep  out  haunt- 
ing trouble  from  the  mind?  Mon  ami,  you  rave! — such 
a thing  is  not  possible  ! If  it  could  quench  mad  passion, 
— if  it  could  kill  love  ! — if  it  could  make  of  my  heart  a 
stone,  instead  of  a tortured,  palpitating  sentient  substance 
— there ! — forgive  me  ! I am  talking  at  random  of  I 


122 


WORMWOOD. 


know  not  what, — I have  been  cruelly  betrayed,  Gessonex? 
and  I wish  to  God  I could  forget  my  betrayal  ! ” 

My  words  had  broken  from  me  involuntarily,  and  he 
heard  them  with  an  attentive  expression  of  amiable  half- 
melancholy solicitude.  But  in  reply  he  pointed  to  the 
glass  beside  me. 

“ Drink  ! ” he  said. 

Drink! — Well,  why  not?  I could  see  no  earthly  rea- 
son for  hesitating  over  such  a trifle, — I would  taste  the 
nauseous  fluid  again,  I thought,  if  only  to  satisfy  my  com- 
panion,— and  I at  once  did  so.  Heavens  ! — it  was  now 
delicious  to  my  palate — exquisitely  fine  and  delicate  as 
balm, — and  in  my  pleasurable  amazement  I swallowed 
half  the  tumblerful  **  readily,  conscious  of  a new  and  in- 
describably delightful  sense  of  restorative  warmth  and  com- 
fort pervading  my  whole  system.  I felt  that  Gessonex 
observed  me  intently,  and,  meeting  his  gaze  I smiled. 

“You  are  £piite  right,  Andre  ! ” I told  him.  “The 
second  trial  is  the  test  of  flavor.  It  is  excellent  ! ” 

And  without  taking  any  more  thought  as  to  what  I 
was  doing,  I finished  the  entire  draught,  re-lit  my  cigar- 
ette which  had  gone  out,  and  began  to  smoke  con- 
tentedly, while  Gessonex  re-filled  my  glass. 

“Now  you  will  soon  be  a man  again  ! ” he  exclaimed 
joyously,  “ To  the  devil  with  all  the  botherations  of  life, 
say  I ! You  are  too  well  off  in  this  world’s  goods,  mon 
cher , to  allow  yourself  to  be  seriously  worried  about  any- 
thing,— and  I am  truly  glad  I have  persuaded  you  to  try 
my  favorite  remedy  for  the  kicks  of  fortune,  because  I 
like  you  ! Moreover,  to  speak  frankly,  I owe  you  several 
excellent  dinners, — the  one  of  to-night  being  particularly 
welcome,  in  spite  of  what  I said  in  favor  of  the  cold  water 
nourishment, — and  the  only  good  I can  possibly  do  you 
in  return  for  your  many  acts  of  friendship  is  to  introduce 
you  to  the  4 Fairy  with  the  Green  Eyes  ’ — as  this  ex- 
quisite nectar  has  been  poetically  termed.  It  is  a charm- 
ing fairy  ! — one  wave  of  the  opal  wand,  and  sorrow  is  con- 
veniently guillotined  ! ” 

I let  him  run  on  uninterruptedly, — I myself  was  too 
drowsily  comfortable  to  speak.  I watched  the  smoke  of 
my  cigarette  curling  up  to  the  ceiling  in  little  dusky 

* A rlass  of  Absinthe  taken  fasting  is  sufficient  to  cause  temporary 
delirium. 


WORMWOOD. 


12  3 

wreaths, — they  seemed  to  take  phosphorescent  gleams  of 
color  as  they  twisted  round  and  round  and  melted  away. 
A magical  period  of  sudden  and  complete  repose  had  been 
granted  to  me, — I had  ceased,  to  think  of  Pauline, — of 
Silvion  Guidel — or  of  any  one  incident  of  my  life  or  sur- 
roundings,— all  my  interest  was  centred  in  those  rising 
and  disappearing  smoky  rings  ! I drank  more  absinthe, 
with  increasing  satisfaction  and  avidity, — previous  to  tast- 
ing it  I had  been  faint  and  cold  and  shivering, — now  I 
was  thoroughly  warm,  agreeably  languid,  and  a trifle 
sleepy.  I heard  Gessonex  talking  to  me  now  and  then, 
there  were  moments  when  he  seemed  to  become  eloquently 
energetic  in  his  denunciations  of  something  or  somebody, 
— but  his  voice  sounded  far  off,  like  a voice  in  a dream, 
and  I paid  very  little  heed  to  him,  only  nodding  occasion- 
ally whenever  he  appeared  to  expect  an  answer.  I was 
in  that  hazy  condition  of  mind  common  to  certain  phases 
of  intoxication,  when  the  drunkard  is  apt  to  think  he  is 
thinking, — though  really  no  distinctly  comprehensible 
thought  is  possible  to  his  befogged  and  stupefied  brain. 
Yet  I understood  well  enough  what  Gessonex  said  about 
love  ; he  got  on  that  subject,  heaven  knows  how,  and 
launched  against  it  an  arrowy  shower  of  cynicism. 

“ What  a fool  a man  is,”  he  exclaimed,  “ to  let  himself 
be  made  a slave  for  life,  all  for  the  sake  of  a pretty  face 
that  in  time  is  bound  to  grow  old  and  ugly ! Love  is 
only  a hbt  impulse  of  the  blood,  and  like  any  other  fever 
can  be  cooled  and  kept  down  easily  if  one  tries.  It  is  a 
starving  sort  of  ailment  too, — one  does  not  get  fat  on  it. 
Love  emaciates  both  soul  and  body — but  hate,  on  the 
contrary,  feeds ! I must  confess  that,  for  my  own  part,  I 
have  no  sympathy  with  a lover, — but  I ad#re  a good  hater  ! 
To  hate  well  is  the  most  manly  of  attributes,— for  there 
is  so  much  in  the  world  that  merits  hatred — so  little  that 
is  worthy  of  love  ! As  for  women — bah  ! We  begin  our 
lives  by  believing  them  to  be  angels, — but  we  soon  find 
cut  what  painted,  bedizened,  falsely-smiling  courtesans 
they  all  are  at  heart, — at  least  all  I have  ever  met.  Par- 
dien ! I swear  to  you,  Beauvais,  I have  never  known  a 
good  woman  ! ” 

“ Helas  1 " I sighed  gently,  and  smiled.  “ Pauvre 
Gessonex ! ” 

“ And  you  ? ” he  demanded  eagerly. 


324 


WOXMV/OOD. 


A vision  of  a pure,  pale,  proud  face,  set  like  a classic 
cameo,  in  a frame  of  golden  hair,  and  lightened  into  life 
by  the  steady  brilliancy  of  two  calm  star-splendid  eyes, 
flashed  suddenly  across  my  mind  almost  against  my  will, 
and  I replied,  half  dreamily — 

“ One  woman  I know  both  fair  and  wise,  and  also — I 
think — good.’’ 

“ You  think  !”  laughed  Gessonex,  with  a touch  of  wild- 
ness in  his  manner.  “ You  only  think  ! — you  do  not  fear  / 
Yes  ! — I say  fear  ! Fear  her,  mon  ami , if  she  is  truly  good, 
— for  as  sure  as  death  the  time  will  come  when  she  will 
shame  you  ! There  is  no  man  pure  enough  to  look  upon 
the  face  of  an  innocent  woman,  and  not  know  himself  to 
be  at  heart  a villain  ! ” 

I smiled  again.  What  foolish  fancies  the  fellow  had  to 
be  sure  ! He  rambled  on  more  or  less  incoherently, — 
while  I sank  deeper  and  deeper  into  a maze  of  indolent 
reverie.  I was  roused  at  last,  however,  by  the  respectful 
appeals  of  the  tired  garfon,  who  mildly  suggested  that  we 
should  now  take  our  leave,  as  it  was  past  midnight,  and 
they  were  desirous  of  closing  the  cafe.  I got  up  sleepily, 
paid  the  reckoning,  tipped  our  yawning  attendant  hand- 
somely, and  walked,  or  rather  reeled  out  of  the  place  arm 
in  arm  with  my  companion,  who,  as  soon  as  he  found 
himself  in  the  open  street  exposed  once  more  to  the  furious 
rain  which  poured  down  as  incessantly  as  ever,  fell  to 
rating  the  elements  in  the  most  abusive  terms. 

“ Sacre  diable !”  he  exclaimed.  “What  abominable 
weather  ! — Entirely  unsuited  to  the  constitution  of  a gentle- 
man ! Only  rats,  cats,  and  toads  should  be  abroad  on  such 
a night, — and  yet  I — I,  Andre  Gessonex,  the  only  painter 
in  France  with  any  genius,  am  actually  compelled  to 
walk  home  ! What  vile  injustice  ! You,  mon  cher 
Beauvais,  are  more  fortunate — God,  or  the  gods,  will  per- 
mit you  to  drive  ! The  fiacre  is  at  your  service  for  one 
franc,  twenty  centimes, — the  voiture  de place  for  two  francs 
fifty  ! Which  will  you  choose  ? — though  the  hour  is  so  late 
that  it  is  possible  the  brave  cocker  may  not  be  corthcoming 
even  when  called.” 

And  he  swaggered  jauntily  to  the  edge  of  the  curbstone 
and  looked  up  and  down  the  nearly  deserted  street,  I 
watching  him  curiously  the  while.  An  odd  calmness 
possessed  me, — some  previously  active  motion  in  my 


WORMWOOD. 


I25 


brain  seemed  suddenly  stopped, — and  I was  vaguely  in- 
terested in  trifles.  For  instance,  there  was  a little  pool  in 
a hollow  of  the  pavement  at  my  feet,  and  I found  myself 
dreamily  counting  the  big  raindrops  that  plashed  into  it 
with  the  force  of  small  falling  pebbles  ; — then,  a certain 
change  in  the  face  of  Gessonex  excited  my  listless  atten- 
tion,— his  eyes  were  so  feverishly  brilliant  that  for  the 
moment  their  lustre  gave  him  a sort  of  haggard  dare-devil 
beauty,  that  though  wild  and  starved  and  faded,  was  yet 
strangely  picturesque.  I studied  him  coldly  for  a little 
space, — then  moved  close  up  to  him  and  slipped  a twenty- 
franc  piece  into  his  hand.  His  fingers  closed  on  it 
instantly.’’ 

“ Drive  home  yourself,  mon  cher,  if  you  can  get  a 
carriage,”  I said.  “ As  for  me  I shall  walk.” 

“ Let  the  rich  man  trudge  while  the  beggar  rides ! 
laughed  Gessonex,  pocketing  his  gold  coin  without  re- 
mark,— he  would  have  considered  any  expression  of 
gratitude  in  the  worst  possible  taste.  “ That  is  exactly 
what  all  the  disappointed  folk  here  below  expect  to  do 
after  death,  Beauvais  ! — to  ride  in  coaches  and  six  round 
Heaven  and  look  down  at  their  enemies  walking  the 
brimstone,  miles  in  Hell ! What  a truly  Christian  hope, 
is  it  not  ? And  so  you  will  positively  invite  another 
drenching  ? Bien  ! — so  then  will  I, — I can  change  my 
clothes  when  I get  home  ! ” 

Unfortunate  devil  ! — he  had  no  clothes  to  change, — I 
knew  that  well  enough  ! His  road  lay  in  an  entirely 
different  direction  from  mine,  so  I bade  him  good-night. 

“ You  are  a different  man  now,  Beauvais,  are  you  not?  ” 
he  said,  as  he  shook  hands.  “ The  ‘ green  fairy  ’ has  cured 
you  of  your  mind’s  distemper  ?” 

“Was  my  mind  distempered?”  I queried  indifferently, 
wondering  as  I spoke  why  the  lately  incessant  pulsation 
in  my  brain  was  now  so  stunned  and  still.  “ I forget ! — 
but  1 suppose  it  was  ! Anyhow,  whatever  was  the  matter 
with  me,  I am  now  quite  myself  again.” 

He  laughed  wildly. 

“ Good  ! I am  glad  of  that ! As  for  me,  I am  never 
myself, — I am  always  somebody  else!  Droll,  is  it  not? 
The  fact  is  ” — and  he  lowered  his  voice  to  a confidential 
whisper — “ I have  had  a singular  experience  in  my  life, 
— altogether  rare  and  remarkable.  I have  killed  myself 
\ 


126 


WORMWOOD. 


and  attended  my  own  funeral ! Yes,  truly ! Candles, 
priests,  black  draperies,  well-fed  long-tailed  horses, — touts 
la  bar  ague, — no  sparing  of  expense,  you  understand  ? 
My  corpse  was  in  an  open  shell — I have  a curious  objec- 
tion to  shut-up  coffins — open  to  the  night  it  lay,  with  the 
stars  staring  down  upon  it — it  had  a young  face  then, — 
and  one  might  easily  believe  that  it  had  also  had  fine  eyes. 
I chose  white  violets  for  the  wreath  just  over  the  heart, — 
they  are  charming  flowers,  full  of  delicately  suggestive 
odor,  do  you  not  find  ? — and  the  long  procession  to  the 
grave  was  followed  by  the  weeping  crowds  *of  Paris. 

Dead  ! ’ they  cried.  ‘ Our  Gessonex  ! the  Raphael  of 
France  ! ’ Oh,  it  was  a rare  sight,  mon  ami  ! — Never  was 
there  such  grief  in  a land  before, — I wept  myself  for 
sympathy  with  my  lamenting  countrymen  ! I drew  aside 
tiil  all  the  flowers  had  been  thrown  into  the  open  grave, 
— for  I was  the  sexton,  you  must  remember  ! — I waited 
till  the  cemetery  was  deserted  and  in  darkness — and  then 
I made  haste  to  bury  myself — piling  the  earth  over  my 
dead  youth  close  and  fast,  levelling  it  well,  and  treading 
it  down  ! The  Raphael  of  France  ! — There  he  lay,  I 
thought — and  there  he  might  remain,  so  far  as  I was 
concerned — he  was  only  a genius,  and  as  such  was  no 
earthly  use  to  anybody.  Good-bye  and  good  riddance,  I 
said,  as  I hurried  away  from  that  graveyard  and  became 
from  henceforth  somebody  else ! And  do  you  know  [ 
infinitely  prefer  to  be  somebody  else  ? — it  is  so  much  less 
troublesome  ! ” 

These  strange,  incoherent  sentences  coursed  off  his  lips 
with  impetuous  rapidity — his  voice  had  a strained  piteous 
pathos  in  it  mingled  with  scorn, — and  the  intense  light 
in  his  eyes  deepened  to  a sort  of  fiery  fury  from  which  i 
involuntarily  recoiled.  His  appellation  of  “ mad  ” painter 
never  seemed  so  entirely  suited  to  him  as  now.  But, 
mad  or  not  mad,  he  was  quick  enough  to  perceive  the 
instinctive  shrinking  movement  I made,  and  laughing 
again,  he  again  shook  my  hand  cordially,  lifted  his  bat- 
tered hat  with  an  assumption  of  excessive  gentility,  and 
breaking  into  the  most  high-flown  expressions  of  French 
courtesy,  bade  me  once  more  farewell.  I watched  him 
walking  along  in  his  customary  half-jaunty,  half-tragir 
style  till  he  had  disappeared  round  a corner  like  a fan 
tastic  spectre  vanishing  in  a nightmare,  and  then — then. 


WORMWOOD. 


127 


as  though  a flash  of  blinding  fire  had  crossed  my  sight,  it 
suddenly  became  clear  to  my  mind  what  he  had  done  for 
me!  And  as  I realized  it  I could  have  shouted  aloud  in 
the  semi-delirium  of  feverish  intoxication  that  burnt  my 
brain  ! That  subtle  flavor — clinging  to  my  palate — that 
insidious  fluid  creeping  drop  by  drop  through  my  veins — 
I knew  what  it  was  at  last ! — the  first  infiltration  of  another 
life — the  slow  but  sure  transfusion  of  a strange  and 
deadly  bitterness  into  my  blood,  which  once  absorbed, 
must  and  would  cling  to  me  forever  ! Ahsintheur  ! I 
have  heard  the  name  used,  sometimes  contemptuously, 
sometimes  compassionately, — it  meant — oh  ! so  much  ! — 
and,  like  charity,  covered  such  a multitude  of  sins  ! On 
what  a fine  hair’s-breadth  of  chance  or  opportunity  one’s 
destiny  hangs  after  all  ! To  think  of  that  miserable 
Andre  Gessonex  being  an  instrument  of  Fate  seemed 
absurd  ! — a starved  vaurien  and  reprobate — a mere  crazed 
fool ! — and  yet — yet — my  casual  meeting  with  him  had 
been  foredoomed  ! — it  had  given  the  Devil  time  to  do 
good  work, — to  consume  virtue  in  a breath  and  conjure 
up  vice  from  the  dead  ashes — to  turn  a feeling  heart  to 
stone — and  to  make  of  a man  a fiend  t 


WOtiMlVOOO. 


*2  6 


XIII. 

I went  home  that  night,  not  to  sleep  but  to  dream,— 
to  dream,  with  eyes  wide  open  and  senses  acutely  con- 
scious. I knew  I was  in  my  own  room  and  on  my  own 
bed, — I could  almost  count  the  little  gradations  of  light 
in  the  pale  glow  flung  by  the  flickering  night-lamp 
against  the  wall  and  ceiling, — I could  hear  the  muffled 
“ tick-tick  ” of  the  clock  in  my  father’s  chamber  next 
to  mine, — but  though  these  every-day  impressions  were 
d’stinct  and  fully  recognizable,  I was  Still  away  from  them 
all, — far  far  away  in  a shadowy  land  of  strange  surprises 
And  miraculous  events, — a land  where  beauty  and  terror, 
ecstasy  and  horror,  divided  the  time  between  them.  I 
was  a prey  to  the  most  singular  physical  sensations  ; — 
that  curious  numbed  stillness  in  my  brain,  which  I had 
previously  felt  without  being  able  to  analyze,  had  given 
place  to  a busy,  swift,  palpitating  motion  like  the  beat  of 
a rapid  pendulum, — and  by  degi^es,  as  • this  something 
swung  to  and  fro,  its  vibrations  seemed  to  enter  into  and 
possess  every  part  of  my  body.  My  heart  bounded  tc 
the  same  quick  time,  my  nerves  throbbed — my  blood 
hurled  itself,  so  to  speak,  through  my  veins  like  a fierce 
torrent, — and  I lay  staring  at  the  white  ceiling  above  me, 
and  vaguely  wondering  at  gll  the  sights  I saw,  and  the 
scenes  in  which  I,  as  a sort  of  disembodied  personality, 
took  active  part  without  stirring  1 Here,  for  instance, 
was  a field  of  scarlet  poppies, — I walked  knee-deep 
among  them,  inhaling  the  strong  opium-odor  of  their 
fragile  leaves, — they  blazed  vividly  against  the  sky,  and 
nodded  drowsily  to  and  fro  in  the  languid  wind.  And 
between  their  brilliant  clusters  lay  the  dead  ! — bodies  of 
men  with  ghastly  wounds  in  their  hearts,  and  fragments 
of  swords  and  guns  inXtheir  stiffening  hands,  while  round 
about  them  were  strewn  torn  flags  and  broken  spears.  A 
battle  has  been  lately  fought,  I mused  as  I passed, — this 


WOkMWOOD. 


129 

is  what  some  folks  call  the  “ field  of  honor,  and  Might 
has  gotten  the  victory  ever  Right,  as  it  ever  does  and  as. 
it  ever  will ! And  the  poppies  wave  and  the  birds  sing, 
—and  the  men  wh  have  given  their  lives  for  truth  and 
loyalty’s  sake  lie  here  to  fester  in  the  earth  forgotten, — 
and  so  the  world  wags  on  from  day  to  day  and  hour  to 
houf,  and  yet  people  prate  of  a God  of  Justice!  . . . 
AVhat  next  in  the  moving  panorama  of  vision  ? — what 
next  ? The  sound  of  a sweet  song  sung  at  midnight ! and 
lo  ! the  moon  is  there,  full,  round  and  warm  ! — grand  gray 
towers  and  palaces  rise  about  me  on  all  sides,— and  out 
on  that  yellow-glittering  water  rests  one  solitary  gondola, 
black  as  a floating  hearse,  yet  holding  light ! She,  that 
fair  siren  in  white  robes,  with  bosom  bare  to  the 
amorous  moon-rays, — she,  with  her  wicked  laughing  eyes 
and  jewel-wreathed  tresses, — is  she  not  beautiful  wanton 
enough  for  at  least  one  hour’s  joy  ! Hark  ! — she  sings,. 
— and  the  tremulous  richness  of  her  silver-toned  man- 
doline quivers  in  accord  with  her  voice  across  the  bright 
dividing  wave  1 

“ Que  mon  dernier  souffle,  eniporti  m 

Dans  less  parfums  du  vent  d'1  ete 
Soit  un  soupir  de  volupti  ! 

Qu’il  vole,  papillon  eharme 
Par  Vattrait  des  roses  de tmai 
Snr  les  llvres  du  bien-aime  ! ” 

I listen  in  dumb  rapt  ecstasy, — when  all  at  once  the 
moon  vanishes, — a loud  clap  of  thunder  reverberates 
through  earth  and  heaven, — the  lightning  glitters  aloft, 
and  I am  alone  in  darkness  and  in  storm.  Alone, — yet 
not  alone, — for  there,  gliding  before  me  in  aerial  phantom- 
shape,  I see  Pauline  ! — her  thin  garments  wet, — her  dark 
locks  dank  and  dripping, — her  blue  eyes  fixed  and 
lustreless — but  yet,  she  smiles  ! — A strange  sad  smile  ! — 
she  waves  her  hand  and  passes ; — I strive  to  follow,  but 
some  imperative  force  holds  me  back, — I can  only  look 
after  her  and  wonder  why  those  drops  of  moisture  cling 
so  heavily  to  her  gown  and  hair  ! She  disappears  ! — 
good  f — Now  I am  at  peace  again, — I can  watch  to  my 
heart’s  content  those  little  leaping  flames  that  sparkle 
round  me  in  lambent  wreaths  of  exquisitely  brilliant 
green, — I can  think  / . . . 

.No  sooner  did  this  itk.u  u*  it  taught  force  itself  upon  me 

Q 


WORMWOOD . 


* 3 o 

than  it  became  an  urgent  and  paramount  necessity — and 
I strove  to  steady  that  whirling,  buzzing  wheel  in  my 
brain,  and  compass  it  to  some  fixed  end,  but  it  was  like  a 
perpetually  shaken  kaleidoscope,  always  forming  itself 
into  a new  pattern  before  one  had  time  to  resolve  the 
first.  Though  this  was  odd  and  in  a manner  confusing,, 
it  did  not  distress  me  at  all, — I patiently  endeavored  to 
set  my  wits  in  order  with  that  peculiar  pleasure  many 
persons  find  in  arranging  a scientific  puzzle, — and  by  de- 
grees I arrived  at  a clear  understanding  with  myself  and 
gained  a full  comprehension  of  my  owh  intentions.  An4 
now  my  intelligent  perception  became  as  exact  am1 
methodical  as  it  had  been  before  erratic  and  confused, — 
I found  I had  acquired  new  force, — new  logic, — new  views 
of  principle, — and  I was  able  to  turn  over  quite  quietly 
in  my  mind  Pauline  de  Charmilles’  dishonor.  Yes  ! — 
dishonor  was  the  word — there  was  no  other — and  for 
her  sin  she  had  not  the  shadow  of  an  excuse.  And 
Silvion  Guidel  was  a liar  and  traitor, — he  justly  merited 
the  punishment  due  tc  such  canaille.  What  a fool  I had 
* been  to  entertain  for  a moment  the  idea  of  forgiveness  ! — 
■what  a piece  of  wretched  effeminacy  it  would  be  on  my 
part,  to  actually  put  up  with  my  own  betrayal  and  aid  to 
make  my  betrayers  happy ! Such  an  act  might  suit  the 
fble  of  a saint, — but  it  would  not  suit  me.  I was  no  saint, 
— I was  a deeply  wronged  man, — and  was  I to  have  no 
redress  for  my  wrong  ? 

The  more  I dwelt  u^>on  this  sense  of  deadly  injury,  the 
more  my  inward  resentment  asserted  itself  and  gathered 
strength,  and  I laughed  aloud  as  I remembered  what  a 
soft-hearted  weakling  I had  been  before,- — before  I had 
learned  the  wisdom  of  absinthe  / Oh,  wonderful  elixir  I — it 
had  given  me  courage,  ferocity,  stern  resolve,  relentless 
justice  ! — and  the  silly  plan  I had  previously  devised  for 
the  benefit  of  the  two  miserable  triflers  who  had  made  so 
light  of  my  love  and  honor,  was  now  completely  altered 
and — reversed ! Glorious  absinthe  ! What  is  it  the  poet  . 
sings  ? — 

44  Avec  r absinthe,  avec  le  feu 
On  pezit  se  diver tir  un  peu 
Jouer  son  rdle  en  quelque  drdme  / ” 

True  enough!  44  Jouer  son  role  en  quelque  drame  ! ,J 
Why  not?  All  things  are  possible  to  Absinthe, — it  cac 


WORMWOOD. 


accomplish  more  marvellous  deeds  than  its  drinkers  wot 
of ! It  can  quench  pity,  freeze  kindness,  kill  all  gentle 
emotions,  and  rouse  in  a man  the  spirit  of  a beast  of 
prey ! The  furious  passions  of  a savage,  commingled 
with  the  ecstasies  of  a visionary,  wake  together  at  its 
touch,  and  he  who  drains  it  deeply  and  often,  becomes  a 
brute-poet,  a god-centaur, — a thing  for  angels  to  wonder 
at,  and  devils  to  rejoice  in  ; — and  such  an  one  am  I ! 
Who  is  there  living  that  can  make*  me  regret  a single  evil 
deed  I have  committed,  or  prove  to  me  at  all  satisfac- 
torily that  my  deeds  are  evil  ? No  one  ! Whosoever  has 
Absinthe  for  his  friend  and  boon  companion  has  made  an 
end  of  conscience,  and  for  this  blessing,  at  least,  should 
thank  the  dreadful  unseen  gods  ! And,  while  we  are 
about  it,  let  us  not  forget  to  thank  the  fine  progressive 
science  of  to-day ! For  we  have  learnt  beyond  a doubt,- — 
have  we  not  ? — that  we  are  merely  physical  organizations 
of  being, — that  we  have  nothing  purely  spiritual  or  God- 
born  in  us, — and  thus,  this  Conscience  that  is  so  much 
talked  about,  is  nothing  after  all  but  a particular  balance 
or  condition  of  the  gray  pulpy  brain-matter.  Moreover, 
it  is  in  our  own  power  to  alter  that  balance  ! — to  reverse 
that  condition  ! — and  this  once  done,  shall  we  not  be 
more  at  peace  ? Knowing  the  times  to  be  evil,  why 
should  we  weary  ourselves  with  striving  after  imaginary 
good  ? The  mind  that  evolves  high  thought  and  plans  of 
lofty  action,  is  deemed  more  or  less  crazed, — it  is  fevered, 
— exalted, — foolishly  imaginative, — so  say  the  wise-acres 
of  the  world,  who  with  bitter  words  and  chill  satire  make 
a jest  of  their  best  poets  and  martyrize  their  noblest  men. 
Come,  then,  O ye  great  dreamers  of  the  better  life  1 — 
come,  sweet  singers  of  divine  things  in  rhythm  ! — come, 
ye  passionate  musicians  who  strive  to  break  open  the 
gates  of  heaven  with  purest  sound  ! — come,  teachers, 
thinkers,  and  believers  all ! — re-set  the  wrong  and  silly 
balance  of  your  brains, — reverse  the  inner  dial  of  your 
lives,  as  I have  done  ! — steep  your  fine  feelings  in  the 
pale-green  fire  that  enflames  the  soul, — and  make  of  your- 
selves absinthenrs, — the  languid  yet  ferocious  brutes  of 
Paris,  whose  ferocity  born  of  poison,  yet  leaves  them 
slaves  ! 

The  night  of  wakeful  vision  past,  I arose  from  my  bed, 
•—I  reeled  back  as  it  were  out  of  a devil’s  shadow-land,, 


132 


WORMWOOD. 


and  faced  God  s morning  unafraid.  It  was  the  day  of 
my  father’s  expected  return  from  England,— and  I sur- 
veyed myself  curiously  in  the  mirror  to  see  if  there  was 
anything  noticeably  strange  or  unsettled  in  my  looks. 
No  ! — my  own  reflection  showed  me  nothing  but  a rather 
pale  countenance,  and  preternaturally  brilliant  eyes.  I 
dressed  with  more  than  usually  punctilious  care,  and 
while  I took  my  early  coffee,  wrote  the  following  lines  to 
.Silvion  Guidel : — * 

“ I know  all!  To  your  treachery  there  can  be  but  one 
answer . I give  you  to-day  to  make  your  preparations, — to- 
morrow, at  whatever  time  arid  place  I shall  choose , of  which 
1 will  inform  you  through  my  seconds,  you  will  meet  me, — 
unless , as  is  possible , you  are  coward  as  well  as  liar . 

“ Gaston  Beauvais.” 

I sealed  this,  and  with  it  in  my  hand,  sallied  forth  to  the 
house  of  the  Cure,  M.  Vaudron.  The  day  was  chill  and 
cloudy,  but  the  rain  had  entirely  ceased,  and  the  lately 
boisterous  wind  had  sunk  to  a mere  cold  breeze.  I walked 
leisurely  ; — my  mind  was  so  thoroughly  made  up  as  to  my 
course  of  action,  that  I felt  no  more  excitement  about  the 
matter.  The  only  thing  that  amused  me  now  and  then, 
and  forced  a laugh  from  me  as  I went,  was  the  remembrance 
of  that  absurd'  idea  I had  indulged  in  on  the  previous 
night, — namely,  that  of  actually  pardoning  the  vile  injury 
done  to  me,  and  exerting  myself  to  make  the  injuring  par- 
ties happy  ! That  would  be  playing  Christianity,  with  a 
vengeance  ! What  a ridiculous  notion  it  now  seemed  ! — 
and  yet  I had  felt  so  earnestly  about  it  then,  that  I had 
even  shed  tears  to  think  of  Pauline's  wretchedness  ! 

Well  ! — it  was  a weakness, — and  it  was  past ! — and  I 
arrived  at  M.  Vaudron’s  abode  in  a perfectly  placid  and 
vindictively  settled  humor.  The  good  Cure  owned  one  of 
those  small  houses  wtih  gardens  which,  in  Paris  or  near  it, 
are  getting  rarer  every  year, — a cottage-like  habitation,  with 
a moss-green  paling  set  entirely  round  it,  and  two  neatly- 
trimmed  flower-beds  adorning  the  grass-plat  in  front.  I 
knocked  at  the  door, — and  old  Margot  opened  it.  Her 
sharp  beady  black  eyes  surveyed  me  with  complete 
astonishment  at  fifst — she  was  evidently  cross  about 
something  or  other,  for  her  smile  was  not  encouraging. 


WORMWOOD. 


*33 

" Eh  hien , M.  Beauvais ! ” she  observed,  setting  her 
arms  akimbo.  “ What  can  one  do  for  you  at  this  early 
hour  in  the  morning?  Not  eight  o’clock  yet,  and  M.  Vau- 
dron  is  at  mass-service — and  his  breakfast  is  not  yet 
prepared, — and  what  should  he  do  with  visitors  before 
noon  ? ” , 

All  this  breathlessly,  and  with  much  pettish  impatience, 

' “Tut,  Margot!  You  must  not  look  upon  me  as  a vis- 
itor,”  I said  quietly.  “ My  errand  is  soon  done.  This  ” 
— and  I held  out  my  sealed-up  challenge — “ is  for  M.  Sib 
vion  Guidel,  voila  tout  /” 

“ For  M.  GuidM  ! ” she  exclaimed,  with  a toss  of  her 
head  and  a quivering  of  her  nostrils,  which  always  be- 
tokened rising  temper.  “ Hein  ! best  send  it  after  him, 
then  ! He  is  not  here  any  longer — he  is  gone  ! ” 

“ Gone  ! ” I echoed  stupidly.  “ Gone  ! ” 

“Gone!  Yes! — and  why  should  he  not  go,  if  you 
please  ? ” she  inquired  testily.  “ I have  had  enough  of 
him  ! He  is  as  difficult  to  please  as  an  English  milord* 
— and  he  has  no  more  heart  than  a bad  onion!  I have 
been  as  kind  to  him  as  his  own  mother  could  have  been, 
— and  yet  away  he  went  last  night  without  a thank-you  for 
my  trouble  ! He  left  ten  francs  on  my  table — bah ! — 
what  is  ten  francs  when  one  wants  a kind  word  ! And 
M.  Vaudron  is  grieving  for  the  loss  of  his  company  like  a 
cat  for  a drowned  kitten  ! ” 

I was  so  confounded  by  this  unexpected  turn  of  af- 
fairs, that  for  a moment  I knew  not  what  to  say. 

“Where  has  he  gone?”  I asked  presently,  in  a faint 
unsteady  voice. 

“ Back  to  Brittany,  of  course  ! ” shrilled  Margot  irritably- 
“ Where  else  should  such  a pretty  babe  be  wanted  ? 
His  father  has  met  with  a dangerous  accident, — a horse 
kicked  him,  I believe — anyhow,  he  is  thought  to  be  dying 
• — and  the  precious  Silvion  was  telegraphed  for  in  haste. 
And,  as  I tell  you,  he  left  last  night,  without  a word  or  a 
look  or  a 4 Dieu  vous  bdnisse  ’ to  me! — me, — who  have 
worked  for  him  and  waited  upon  him  like  a slave ! — ah  ! 
the  wicked  ingratitude  of  the  young  to  the  old ! ” 

I looked  at  her  in  vague  surprise, — she  was  always 
more  or  less  touchy,  but  there  was  evidently  some- 
thing deeper  than  mere  touchiness  in  her  present  humor. 

“ Margot,  you  are  cross  ! ” I said,  endeavorihg  to  smile^ 


WORMWOOD . 


*34 

“ Yes,  I am  cross  ! ” and  she  stamped  her  foot  viciously, 
— then  all  at  once  tears  welled  up  in  her  hard  old  eyes, — 
u I am  cross  and  sorry  both  together  voila  / He  was  a beau 
%ar$on  ; — it  was  pleasant  to  see  him  smile, — and  he  had 
pretty  ways,  both  for  his  uncle  and  forme, — that  is,  when 
he  remembered  me,  which  truly  was  not  often.  But  then 
it  was  enough,  so  long  as  he  was  in  the  house,  voyez-vous  ? 
— and  though  he  would  do  strange  things,  such  as  taking 
those  long  walks  in  the  Bois  by  himself,  for  no  earthly 
reason  that  I could  see, — still  one  could  look  at  him  now 
and  then,  and  think  of  the  days  when  one  was  young. 
Bah  ! ” — and  she  stamped  her  foot  again,  and  rubbed  away 
her  tears  with  her  coarse  apron — “ I am  an  old  fool,  and 
he  is,  I dare  say,  a thriftless  vaurien , in  spite  of  all  his 
prayers  and  fasting  ! ” 

I laughed  rather  bitterly. 

Par  bleu  ! Did  he  pray  ? — did  he  fast  ? ” I inquired,  with 
a touch  of  sarcastic  amusement. 

Margot  flared  round  upon  me  quite  indignantly. 

“ Did  he  pray  ? — did  he  fast  ? — Why,  what  else  was  he 
made  for  ? ” she  snapped  out.  “ He  was  always  praying — 
and  he  ate  enough  for  a bird — no  more!  He  would 
kneel  before  his  crucifix  so  long  that  I used  to  fancy  I 
heard  the  rustle  of  the  Blessed  Virgin’s  robes  about  the 
house, — for  if  hie  petitions  would  not  bring  her  to  take  care 
oi  us  all,  then  I wonder  what  would l And  once — ah  truly  ! 
where  would  he  have  been  if  I had  not  looked  after  him! 
— I found  him  in  a faint  in  the  church  itself — he  had  beer 
walking  in  the  Bois  as  usual,  and  had  come  back  to 
pray  without  touching  a morsel  of  food, — but  what  else 
could  you  expect  ? He  was  a great  big  innocent ! — the 
holy  saints  were  the  same  ! ” 

I shrugged  my  shoulders  disdainfully. 

“ Do  you  know,  Margot  that  there  are  several  ways  of 
fighting  the  devils  out  of  a man  ? ” I said ; “ and  starvation 
is  one  ! Yet  even  then,  it  sometimes  happens  that  the 
devils  still  get  the  upper  hand  ! Can  you  tell  me  whether 
M.  Guidel  is  coming  back  to  Paris  ? ” 

“ No,  I cannot ! ” she  retorted  snappishly.  “ It  is 
certain  that  he  is  gone,  and  that  I have  work  to  do, — and 
that  if  you  want  more  news  of  him,  you  had  better  speak 
to  M.  le  Cure.  I have  no  time  to  stand  talking  here  any 
longer  !”  * 


WORMWOOD.  135; 

“Bienl  Bon  jour , Margot ! ” and  I raised  my  hat  to 
her  playfully. 

“Bon  jour,  M.  Gaston!”  she  returned  tartly  and 
try  not  to  be  jealous  of  young  men  whom  God  has  made 
better-looking  than  yourself  ! ” 

And,  with  a bang,  she  shut  the  door  upon  me.  I laughed,, 
and  sauntered  slowly  away.  Idiotic  old  woman  ! She  too, 
withered  and  wan  and  uncomely,  had  also  felt  the  influence 
of  Silvion  GuideTs  accursed  beauty,  so  much  so,  as  to- 
be  actually  fretting  over  his  careless  omission  to  say 
good-bye  to  her  ! And  she  became  rude  to  me  directly  she 
saw  that  I was  inclined  to  depreciate  his  value  ! What 
dolts  women  were,  I thought ! Caught  by  a charming 
smile, — a pair  of  fine  eyes,  and  a graceful  form, — caught  and 
infatuated  to  folly,  and  worse  than  folly,  all  for  a man’s 
outward  bearing ! — Positively,  when  one  comes  to  think 
of  it,  with  all  our  intellectual  progress,  we  are  little  better 
than  the  beasts  in  love  ! Physical  perfection  generally  en- 
chains us  far  more  than  mental, — as  the  tiger  paces  round 
his  mate,  attracted  by  her  sinuous  form,  her  velvety  skin  and 
.fiery  eyes,  so  we  court  and  ogle  the  woman  whose  body 
seems  to  us  the  fairest, — so  women,  in  their  turn,  cast  am- 
orous eyes  at  him  whose  strength  seems  the  best  comparisoa 
to  their  weakness.  Of  course  there  are  exceptions  to  the 
rule,  —but  so  rarely  do  they  occur  that  they  are  chronicled 
among  the  world’s  “ romances,”  not  realities.  And  we 
want  realities  nowadays,  do  we  not? — nqf  foolish  glozing 
over  of  true  and  ugly  facts  ? Well  ! — one  very  true  and 
very  ugly  fact  is  paramount  in  human  history,  namely, 
that  this  merely  physical  attraction  between  man  and 
women  is  of  the  briefest  continuance,  and  nearly  always 
turns  to  absolute  loathing ! We  are  punished  when  we 
admire  one  another’s  perishable  beauty  to  the  exclusion  of 
all  mental  or  intelligent  considerations, — punished  in  a 
thousand  frightful  ways, — ways  which  have  truly  a savor 
of  Hell  ! It  is,  perhaps,  unjust  that  the  punishment 
should  fall  so  heavily, — but  fall  it  does,  without  question 
— unless — unless  one  is  an  absintheur  ! Then,  neither 
crime  nor  punishment  matter  one  iota  to  the  soul  that  has 
thus  been  rendered  brutishly  impervious  to  both  ! 

I had  plenty  of  foo3  for  reflection  as  I walked  away 
from  the  Cure’s  house, — and  to  give  myself  time  to  think 
quietly,  I entered  the  J3ois  which  was  close  by,  and 


136 


WORM  WO  O D . 


roamed  up  and  down  therefor  more  than  an  hour.  Silvion 
Guidel  had  left  Paris  ; — did  Pauline  know  of  this,  I 
wondered  ? I tore  up  the  challenge  I had  written  him, 
and  flung  the  little  bits  of  paper  far  and  wide  into  the 
air, — should  I follow  him  to  his  home  in  Brittany  ? I 
was  not  at  all  inclined  for  the  trouble  of  the  journey. 
Old  Margot’s  allusion  to  those  long  walks  he  used  to  take 
had  opened  my  eyes  to  the  manner  in  which  he  and 
Pauline  must  have  arranged  their  clandestine  inter- 
views ; — the  nervous  presentiments  of  Heloise  St.  Cyr 
had  evidently  been  only  too  well  founded  ! Pauline,  under 
pretence  of  attending  mass  at  M.  Vaudron’s  church,  had 
really  gone  to  meet  her  lover  ; — while  he,  after  assisting 
his  uncle  at  the  first  celebration,  had  hastened  off  to  keep 
the  tryst  at  whatever  part  of  the  Bois  they  had  secretly 
appointed, — and  so  the  amour  had  been  cleverly  carried 
on  in  the  early  morning  hours,  without  awakening  any 
suspicion  of  wrong  in  those  whose  simple  belief  in 
woman’s  virtue  and  man’s  honor  had  been  thus  delib- 
erately outraged.  Other  meetings  elsewhere,  too,  might 
easily  have  been  arranged, — liars  have  a thousand 
cunning  ways  of  keeping  up  their  lies  ! What  dupes  we 
had  all  been  ! — what  unsuspecting,  blind,  good-natured, 
trusting  fools! — for  I felt  certain  that  even  H oise, 
though  she  might  have  had  her  private  fears  of  Pauline’s 
impulsiveness  and  Guidel’s  attractiveness,  never  imag- 
ined her  idolized  cousin  would  have  fallen  so  far  as  she 
had  fallen  now.  I meditated  on  the  whole  position  for 
a while,  and  finally  returned  home, — the  result  my 
solitary  reverie  framing  itself  into  the  following  letter  : — - 

“To  Mademoiselle  Pauline  de  Charmilles. 

“ Mademoiselle,- 

“ I hear  this  morning  that  M.  Sifvion  Guidel  has  left 
Paris.  Has  he  mad©  his  departure  known  to  you,  or 
, signified  in  any  way  his  future  intentions  ? If  not,  I 
j presume  that  his  return  to  Brittany  will  be  for  good,  in 
"'which  case  I may  possibly  I do  not  say  certainly)  endeavor 
to  forget  our  painful  interview  of  last  night.  To  make 
the  best  of  the  terrible  position  you  are  in,  and  also  for 
the  sake  of  those  to  whom  your  honor  is  dear,  you  will 
do  well,  at  any  rate  for  the  present,  to  keep  silence — and 
allow  the  arrangements  for  our  marriage  to  proceed  un- 


WORMWOOD. 


137 


interruptedly.  As  time  progresses  some  new  course  of 
action  may  suggest  itself  to  me, — but,  till  either  definite 
news  is  heard  from  M.  Guidel,  or  I can  see  my  way  to  an 
alteration  of  the  contract  settled  and  agreed  upon  by  our 
respective  families,  you  will  serve  every  one  concerned 
best,  by  allowing  things  to  remain  as  they  are.  Accept 
my  respectful  salutations  ! 

“ Gaston  Beauvais.” 

I wrote  this, — but  why  ? Did  I really  intend  to 
“ endeavor  to  forget  ” her  crime  ? Certainly  not  ! What 
then  did  I mean  ? — what  did  I propose  to  do  ? I cannot 
tell  you  ? I had,  or  seemed  to  have,  an  ulterior  motive 
lurking  in  the  background  of  my  thoughts, — but  what 
that  motive  was,  I could  not  explain  even  to  myself  ! 
Some  force  outside  of  me  apparently  controlled  my 
movements, — I was  a passive  slave  to  some  unseen  but 
imperative  master  of  my  will  ! There  is  such  a thing 
as  hypnotism,  remember  ! — the  influence  of  one  mind 
acting  upon  and  commanding  the  other  even  at  a distance. 
But  there  is  something  stronger  even  than  hypnotism — and 
that  is  Absinthe  1 The  suggestions  it  offers  are  resistless 
and  implacable — no  opposing  effort  will  break  its 
bonds  ! And  it  had  placed  an  idea,— a diabolical  con- 
ception of  revenge  somewhere  in  my  brain, — but  whatever 
the  plan  was  it  did  not  declare  itself  in  bold  form  as 
yet, — it  was  a fiery  nebula  of  disconnected  fancies  from 
which  I could  obtain  no  settled  fact.  But  I was  satis- 
fied that  I meant  something,— something  that  would,  I 
suppose,  evolve  itself  into  action  in  due  time, — and  for 
that  time  I was  languidly  content  to  wait. 


WORMWOOD, 


' «* 


•jS 


XIV. 

About  a couple  of  hours  after  I had  written  my  letter, 
I called  at  the  De  Charmilles’  house,  and  delivered  it  in 
person  to  Pauline’s  own  maid.  I bade  this  girl  tell  her 
mistress  that  I waited  for  an  answer, — and  presently  the 
answer  came, — a little  blotted  blurred  note  closely 
sealed. 

“ I cannot,  will  not  believe  he  has  gone  ! ” — it  ran — 
u without  a word  to  me  ! — it  would  be  too  cruel ! What 
shall  I do  ? — I am  desolate  and  helpless.  But  I trust 
you , Gaston, — and,  as  you  wish  it,  I will  say  nothing, 
though  to  keep  silence  breaks  my  heart, — nothing — until 
you  give  me  leave  to  speak. 

“ Pauline.” 

This  was  all,  but  it  satisfied  me.  I read  it,  stand- 
ing on  the  doorstep  with  the  femme-de-chambre  watching 
me  somewhat  curiously.  Smiling  unconcernedly,  I in- 
quired— 

“ How  is  mademoiselle  this  morning  ? ” 

“ Not  very  well,  monsieur.  She  has  a severe  headache 
and  has  not  slept.” 

I feigned  a proper  anxiety. 

“ I am  exceedingly  sorry  ! Pray  convey  to  her  the 
expression  of  my  deep  solicitude  ! By  the  way,  have  you 
any  news  of  Mademoiselle  Hdloise  ? ” 

“ Oh  oui , monsieur ! She  returns  to-morrow  after- 
noon.” v 

With  this  information  I retired, — and  straightway  pro- 
ceeded to  the  Gare  du  Nord  to  meet  my  father.  He 
arrived,  punctual  to  time,  and  greeted  me  with  the  ut- 
most affection. 

“ Gloire  a la  France  /”  he  exclaimed,  as  he  alighted  on 
the  platform  and  clasped  me  by  both  hands.  “ What  a 


WORMWOOD. 


*39 


joy  it  is  to  be  out  of  gloomy  England  ! It  is  the  month 
of  May  as  we  all  know, — and  yet  I have  only  seen  the 
sun  three  times  since  I left  Paris  ! But  thou  art  pale, 
mon  fils  ? Thou  hast  worked  too  hard  ? ” 

“Not  at  all,”  I assured  him. 

“ The  little  Pauline  has  been  cruel  ? ” 

I laughed. 

“ Cruel  ! She  is  an  angel  of  sweetness,  mon perel — too 
kind,  too  virtuous  and  too  true  for  such  a worthless 
fellow  as  I ! ” 

My  father  gave  me  a quick  puzzled  glance. 

“ You  speak  with  a strange  harshness  in  your  voice, 
Gaston,”  he  said  anxiously.  “ Is  there  anything 
wrong  ? ” 

I tried  to  be  as  much  like  my  old  self  as  possible,  and 
took  his  arm  affectionately. 

“ Nothing,  mon  pere  ! — nothing!  All  is  well.  I have 
ldst  a friend,  that  is  all ; — the  admirable  Silvion  Guidel 
has  gone  back  to  Brittany.” 

“ Tiens ! what  a pity!”  and  my  father  looked  quite 
concerned  about  it.  “ He  had  become  thy  favorite  com- 
rade too ! When  did  he  go  ? ” 

“ Last  night  only,  and  quite  suddenly,”  and  I detailed 
the  news  of  the  morning  as  received  from  Margot. 

My  father  shook  his  head  vexedly. 

“ Ah  well  ! Then  he  will  have  to  be  a priest  after  all, 
I suppose  ! Quel  dommage ! Such  a brilliant  young 
man  should  have  chosen  a different  career.  I had 
hoped  Paris  would  have  changed  him.” 

“ You  are  as  fascinated  with  him  as  everybody  else  ! ” 
I said,  laughing  somewhat  nervously.  My  father 
laughed  too. 

“ Well ! He  is  a fascinating  boy  ! ” he  admitted  ; “ I 
am  already  quite  sorry  for  the  ladies,  old  and  young, 
who  may  need  to  have  recourse  to  his  spiritual  coun- 
sels ! ” 

“ By  my  faith,  so  am  I ! ” I rejoined  emphatically,  in  a 
half  sotto-voce,  which  my  father,  just  then  busy  with  his 
luggage,  did  not  hear. 

All  that  day  was  one  of  comparatively  empty  leisure  ; 
but,  though  I had  both  chance  and  opportunity,  I did  not 
venture  to  visit  Pauline.  Old  Vaudron  came  disconso- 
lately in  at  dinner-time,  the  forlorn  expression  of  his 


14-0 


WORMWOOD . 


countenance  betokening  how  greatly  he  missed  his 
nephew,  though  he  brightened  up  a little  in  my  father’s 
company.  I watched  him, — thinking  of  the  secret  I held 
— yet  saying  nothing. 

“ Who  would  have  thought,”  he  dismally  complained, 
“ frhat  the  boy  Silvion  could  have  become  so  dear  to 
me  ! And  to  Margot  also  ! — she  is  inconsolable  ! What 
a warning  it  is  against  setting  too  much  store  by  the 
ties  of  earthly  affection  ! It  is  altogether  very  unfor- 
tunate ; for  now  I suppose  his  parents  will  hardly  bear 
him  out  of  their  sight  for  months  ! You  see,  mon  ami ” 
— and  his  kind  old  eyes  moistened  as  he  spoke — “ he  is 
such  a beautiful  and  gentle  soul  that  one  considers  him 
more  an  angel  than  a human  being, — he  is  unlike  every- 
body else.  Yet,  all  the  same,  I think  Paris  scarcely 
agreed  with  him.  There  was  an  odd  restlessness  about 
his  manner  of  late, — and  a certain  bitterness  of  speech 
that  did  not  well  become  his  nature  ; and  once  indeed 
* we  had  together  a very  melancholy  discussion  which,  if  I 
had  not  handled  it  with  the  nicest  care,  might  have  le'd  to 
his  indulgence  in  a deadly  sin  ! ” 

“Impossible!”  I ejaculated  with  a slight  smile.  “Sin 
and  Silvion  Guidel  are  leagues  apart ! ” 

“ True,  very  true  ! ” responded  the  gentle,  unsuspect- 
ing old  man.  “ And  I thank  God  for  it ! Yet,  without 
carnal  errors,  there  are  spiritual  transgressions  which 
must  be  avoided, — and  one  of  these  Silvion  was  inclined 
to  fall  a prey  to, — namely,  despair ! Despair  of  God’s 
mercy  ! — ah  ! this  is  terrible  presumption,  and  we  find  it 
so  designated  in  the  Holy  Roman  Missal.  He  put 
strange  and  awful  questions  to  me  at  that  time,  such  as 
this, — ‘ Whether  I believed  God  teally  cared  how  we 
lived  or  what  good  or  evil  we  committed  ! ’ Such  a fright- 
ful idea  ! — a positive  tempting  of  Divine  justice  ! — it  quite 
alarmed  me,  I assure  you  ! ” 

“And  you  answered — what  ? ” I queried,  vaguely  inter- 
ested. 

“ Why,  mon  cher  garcon , I answered  as  my  faith  and 
duty  taught  me,”  he  replied  with  mild  austerity.  “ I told 
him  that  God  certainly  did  care, — or  else  He  would  not 
have  placed  in  the  inner  consciousness  of  every  human 
being  such  a distinct  comprehension  betwixt  right  and 
wrong.” 


WORMWOOD. 


141 

“ But — pardon  me — it  is  not  always  distinct,”  I in- 
terposed ; “ it  is  frequently  very  doubtful  and  uncer- 
tain. If  it  were  more  plainly  defined,  right  action  would 
perhaps  be  easier.” 

“ Not  so,  mon  petit  ,”  declared  Vaudron  gently.  “ Be- 
cause the  unfortunate  fact  is  that,  though  men  have 
this  distinct  feeling  of  the  difference  between  right 
and  wrong,  they  invariably  choose  the  wrong, — the 
reason  being  that  Right  is  the  hardest  road,— Wrong  the 
easiest.” 

“ Then  one  would  argue  Wrong  to  be  natural,  and 
Right  ^natural,”  I said,  “ and  also  that  it  is  useless  to 
oppose  Nature  * ” 

The  Cure’s  eyes  opened  wide  at  this  remark,  and  my 
father  shook  his  head  at  me  smilingly. 

“ Do  not  thou  be  a sophist,  Gaston  !”  he  said  kindly. 
“ One  can  argue  any  and  eVery  way, — but  Right  is  God’s 
compass  to  the  end  of  all  worlds  ! ” 

I made  no  reply  ; — I thought  I had  begun  to  know  the 
meaning  of  this  “ God’s  compass,” — it  was  nothing  but 
the  small,  delicately  poised  balance  of  the  brain  which 
could,  by  man’s  own  wish  and  will,  be  as  easily  set  wrong 
as  right ! 

After  dinner  I left  the  two  elderly  gentlemen  over  their 
wine  and  slipped  out,  for  a sudden  craving  possessed  me, 

• — a craving,  the  unwholesome  nature  of  which  I perfectly 
understood,  though  I had  neither  strength  nor  desire  to 
resist  it.  The  action  of  absinthe  can  no  more  be  opposed 
than  the  action  of  morphia.  Once  absorbed  into  the 
blood,  a clamorous  and  constant  irritation  is  kept  up 
throughout  the  system, — an  irritation  which  can  only  be 
assuaged  and  pacified  by  fresh  draughts  of  the  ambrosial 
poison.  This  was  the  ffort  of  nervous  restlessness  that 
shook  me  now, — and,  as  it  was  a fine  night,  I made  my 
way  down  to  the  Boulevard  Montmartre,  where  I entered 
one  of  the  best  and  most  brilliant  cafes,  and  at  once 
ordered  the  elixir  that  my  very  soul  seemed  athirst  for  ! 
What  a sense  of  tingling  expectation  quivered  in  my  veins 
as  I prepared  the  greenish-opal  mixture,  whose  magical 
influence  pushed  wide  ajar  the  gates  of  dreamland  ! — with 
what  a lingering  ecstasy  I sipped  to  the  uttermost  dregs 
two  full  glasses  of  it, — enough,  let  me  tell  you,  to  un- 
steady a far  more  slow  and  stolid  brain  than  mine  ! The 


142 


WORMWOOD. 


sensations  which  followed  were  both  physically  and 
mentally  keener  than  on  the  previous  evening, — and  when 
I at  last  left  the  cafe  and  walked  home  at  about  midnight, 
my  way  was  encompassed  with  the  strangest  enchant- 
ments. For  example : there  was  no  moon,  and  clouds 
were  still  hanging  in  the  skies  heavily  enough  to  obscure 
all  the  stars, — yet,  as  I sauntered  leisurely  up  the  Champs 
Elysees,  a bright  green  planet  suddenly  swung  into  dusky 
space,  and  showered  its  lustre  full  upon  my  path.  Its 
dazzling  beams  completely  surrounded  me,  and  made  the 
wet  leaves  of  the  trees  overhead  shine  like  jewels ; and  I 
tranquilly  watched  the  burning  halo  spreading  about  me 
in  the  fashion  of  a wide  watery  rim,  knowing  all  the  time 
that  it  was  but  an  image  of  my  fancy.  Elixir  Vitae  ! — the 
secret  so  ardently  sought  for  by  philosophers  and  alchem- 
ists ! — I had  found  it,  even  I ! — I was  as  a god  in  the 
power  I had  obtained  to  create  and  enjoy  the  creations  of 
my  own  fertile  brain, — for,  truly,  this  is  all  that  even  high 
•Omnipotence  can  do, — namely,  to  command  worlds  to  be 
borne  by  the  action  of  His  thought, — and  again  to  bid 
them  die  by  an  effort  of  His  will ! The  huge  creative 
force  of  all  time  and  all  space  can  be  no  more  than  an  end- 
less and  boundlessly  immense  Imagination.  And  one 
spark  of  this  Imagination  is  perhaps  the  only  divine  thing 
we  have  in  our  mortal  composition, — though,  of  course, 
like  Reason,  it  can  easily  be  perverted  to  false  and  crim- 
inal ends.  But  we  of  Paris  care  nothing  as  to  whether 
our  thoughts  run  in  wholesome  or  morbid  channels  so 
long  as  self-indulgence  is  satiated.  My  thoughts,  for  in- 
stance, were  poisoned, — but  I was  satisfied  with  their 
poisonous  tendency ! And  I was  in  no  wise  disconcerted 
or  dismayed  when,  on  reaching  home  and  ascending  the 
steps,  I found  the  door  draped  with  solemn  black,  as  if 
for  a funeral,  and  saw  written  across  it  in  pale  yet  lustrous 
emerald  scintillations — 

“ La  Mort  habite  ici  ! ” 

Quietly  I put  out  my  hand  and  made  as  though  I would 
touch  these  seemingly  substantial  sable  hangings, — they 
rolled  away  like  rolling  smoke, — the  dismal  inscription 
vanished,  and  all  was  clear  again ! Entering,  I found  my 
father  sitting  up  for  me. 


WORMWOOD. 


145 

“ Thou  art  late,  Gaston  ! ” he  said,  as  I came  towards 
him,  yet  smiling  good-naturedly  as  he  spoke.  “ Thou 
hast  been  at  the  De  Charmilles’  ? ” 

“Not  to-night,”  I answered  carelessly.  “I  have  only 
walked  to  the  Boulevards  and  back.” 

“ Vraime?it!  A new  sort  of  amusement  for  thee,  is  it 
not  ? Thou  art  not  likely  to  become  a boulevardier  / ” 
And  he  clapped  me  kindly  on  the  shoulder  as  we  ascended 
the  stairs  together  to  our  respective  bedrooms.  “ But,  no  ! 
Thou  hast  worked  too  well  and  conscientiously  to  have 
such  a suggestion  made  to  thee  even  in  jest.  I am  well 
pleased  with  thee,  mon  fils, — I know  how  difficult  thy 
duties  have  been  during  my  absence,  and  how  admirably 
thou  hast  fulfilled  them.” 

I received  his  praise  passively  without  remark,  and  he 
continued — 

“ For  the  next  week  take  holiday,  Gaston,  and  for  the 
week  after  that  again  ! Then  comes  thy  marriage, — and 
I will  strive  to  do  without  thee  for  a full  two  months. 
Where  wilt  thou  spend  thy  lune-de-miel 2 ” 

“ Where  ? In  Paradise,  of  course  ! ” I answered,  with 
a forced  smile. 

My  father  laughed, — brushed  his  bearded  lips  against 
my  cheek,  an  old  French  custom  of  his  whenever  he  felt 
particularly  affectionate,  and  we  parted  for  the  night. 
What  a sound  sleep  that  good  man  would  have,  I thought, 
as  I watched  him  turn  into  his  room,  and  saluted  him  re- 
spectfully in  response  to  his  last  cheerful  nod  and  glance. 
He  would  not  see  what  I saw  when  I entered  my  own 
chamber!  Pauline  was  there,  asleep! — she  lay  on  my 
couch,  her  head  resting  on  my  pillows, — her  lips  parted 
in  a sweet  drowsy  smile, — while  over  her  whole  fair  form 
fell  a shimmering  veil  of  green,  like  mist  hanging  above 
the  lakes  and  mountains  in  a halcyon  midsummer  noon  ! 
Ah,  gentle  soul  ! — image  of  child-like  innocence  and  love! 
— there  she  was,  reflected  on  the  mirror  of  my  brain  as 
purely  and  faithfully  as  she  had  been  cherished  in  my 
thoughts  for  many  and  many  a day  ! I stood,  silently 
looking  on  for  a space  at  the  beautiful  phantom  of  my 
lost  idol, — looking  as  gravely,  as  sadly  and  as  regretfully 
as  I would  have  looked  at  the  dead.  Then,  extending  my 
hands  slowly  as  a wizard  might  do,  I attempted  to  touch 
that  delicate  recumbent  figure, — and  lo  ! — it  melted  into 


144 


WORMWOOD. 


naught — my  bed  was  once  more  smooth,  bare,  and  empty,* 
— empty  of  even  the  spectre  of  delight ! I threw  myself 
down  upon  it,  fatigued  in  body  and  mind,  yet  not  unpleas- 
antly so  ; — closing  my  aching  eyes,  I wandered  away  into 
a cloudy  realm  of  confused  phantasmal  pageant  and 
fantastic  vision,  and,  dreaming,  fancied  that  I slept  I 


Woaj.u  uUJJ* 


US 


XV. 

That  same  week,  Heloise  St.  Cyr  returned  from  ^or- 

ATA  & W 

m lies  our  good  friend  the  Cure  being  also  of  the  party 
Y was  vaguely  amused  at  the  whole  affair  -it  went  oi 
so  well  and  there  were  two  such  admirable  actors  a 
table  namely,  myself  and  Pauline.  Trust  a*  woman  to 
eclipse  everyone  in  the  art  of  feigning ! She,  Pauline, 
was?a  mere^brilliant  scintillation  of  dazzling  mirt-.  and 
eoquetterie  from  the  beginning  of  the  dl'^er  to  lJs  ^ 

It  was  only  pretence,  I knew,  but  who  would  have 
thought  she  could  have  pretended  so  well!  Now  and 
then^I  was  smitten  with  a sudden  amaze  at  her,  u o 
serving  her  narrowly  I noticed  the  feverish  flush  on  er 
cheeks  the  almost  delirous  brilliancy  of  her  eyes,  the  un- 
natural  scarlet  of  her  lips, -and  I realized  that  however 
unconcerned  she  might  appear  in 

was  inwardly  enduring  agonies  of  ^ ^ ire  s, ucl a as 

few  could  imagine.  This  conviction  filled  me  with  a cer 
tain  morbid  satisfaction,  though  I often  f^«d  my  atgn- 
tion  wandering  from  her  to  her  cousin  Hekase whose 

St  bS«yy  fT  »i!e  -fbeaulitr-I 

who  had  formerly  been  loth  to  admit  this 

possessed  a^aiqXaEt  imperial  stateliness  of  man- 
Serlhat  was  singularly  attractive.  My  gaze  dwelt  upon 
her  with  a sort  of  fascination,— and  occasionally  I caug 
her  pure  serious  eyes  regarding  me  with  an  anxious  wist- 
fulness and  wonder.  The  Comte  and  Comtesse  de  Char- 
mines  were  evidently  delighted  to  have  their  fair  niece 
once  more  under  their  roof, -and  as  for  Pauline -why, 
she  very  cleverly  affected  to  be  glad !— she  could  do  no 
less  and  no  more ! Of  course  the  conversation  turned 


1 ->  IVORAfWi't ' i.j. 

frequently  upon  Silvion  Guidel  and  his  sudden  depart- 
ure ; and  M.  Vaudron  told  us  he  had  received  a tele- 
gram announcing  his  nephew’s  safe  arrival  at  his  home  in 
Brittany,  but  no  further  news  than  this. 

“ He  will  never  come  back  to  Paris  again,  I am  sure ! ” 
said  Pauline,  laughing  quite  hilariously.  “ He  has  gone 
for  good  ! ” 

“ f arn  afraid  he  has,,  child,”  returned  the  old 
Cure  regretfully.  “ But  perhaps  it  is  better  so.  Paris  is 
not  the  place  for  men  of  serious  purpose, — and  he  has 
seen  it— he  knows  what  it  is  like, — that  is  quite  enough 
for  him.” 

Pauline  gave  not  the  faintest  sign  of  interest  in  these 
remarks, — she  had  been  daintily  dividing  a large  bunch  of 
grapes  with  the  grape-scissors,  and  she  now  held  out  a 
cluster  ofethe  fruit  to  me,  smiling.  As  I accepted  it,  I 
looked  her  full  and  steadily  in  the  eyes, — but  she  did  not 
blush  or  tremble.  What  mummers  we  both  were,  I 
thought  ! — and  what  a part  we  had  chosen  to  play  ! Why 
did  we  not  blurt  out  the  truth  of  the  position  like  honest 
folk  and  take  the  consequences?  Why? — Well,  why 
does  not  every  sinner  make  a clean  breast  of  his  secret 
evil  thoughts  and  misdeeds,  and,  blazoning  them  to  the 
world,  abide  calmly  by  the  result  ? It  would  be  noble — 
it  would  be  stern-principled, — but  afterwards  ? When  we 
had  all  frankly  admitted  ourselves  to  be  more  or  less 
liars  and  knaves  not  worth  a hand-shake  or  a thank-you, 
what  then  ? Nothing  but  this, — society  would  be  at  an 
end,  and  we  might  as  will  pull  down  our  cities  and  re- 
turn in  howling  nudity  to  the  forests  of  primeval  bar- 
barism.. Besides,  we  in  France  always  like  to  feign  a 
little  virtue,  however  much  we  may  feel  prone  to  vice, — 
we  are  fond  of  alluding  melodramatically  to  “ notre  y 
7n ere  and  le  tombeau  de  notre  pere  ” — in  fact,  we  gener- 
ally manage  to  draw  in  our  dead  ancestors  to  support  us 
in  our  feverish  hours  of  strong  mental  excitement  or 
high-pressure  morality.  And  as  regarded  Pauline  and  her 
wretched  secret,  she  was  in  my  hands, — /had  the  ruling 
of  the  game, — 1 and  my  “ green-eyed  fairy”  whose  magi- 
cal advice  I now  followed  unhesitatingly,  and  l did  not 
choose  to  speak,  — yet.  I waited,  and  the  miserable  child 
Pauline  also  waited  on — my  will. 

There  are  some  few  uncomfortable  people  in  the  world, 


WORMWOOD. 


*45 

And  s^  was  very  difficult  to  deal  with,  as  I found,  when 
after  dinner,  I entered  the  drawing-room  as  usual  wita 
the  other  o-entlemen.  It  was  a warm  and  beautiful  e\en- 
W —the  windows  stood  wide  open, -the  garden  was  gay 
Sth  flowers,  and  across  the  small  lawn  in  front  strolled 
Pauline  carolling  softly  to  herself  the  refrain  of  a song. 
Heloise,  in  one  of  those  straight  simple  white  gowns  she 
was  so  fond  of  wearing,  stood  within  the  window-embra- 
sure looking  out,  but  turned  quickly  round  as  soon  as  she 

W3.S  cLW2.r6  of  my  entrance.  , . - , . 

“ M.  Gaston,”  she  said  hurriedly,  in  a half  whisper, 

“ tell  me  !— what  is  wrong  with  Pauline  ? 

I met  her  eyes  with  a studied  expression 'of  complete 

“^Wrong'with  Pauline?”  I echoed  “ Why  nothing ! 
Hear  how  she  sings  I— like  a lark  in  full  sunshine  !-Se. 
how  merry  she  is !-- how  well  she  looks  1 

« Her  merriment  is  forced?  declared  Heloise  emphati- 
cally “ And  she  is  not  well.  Oh,  cannot  you,  who  lov 
her7 see  that  she  is  unhappy?  She  is  changed  quite 
changed,  even  to  me, -she  turns  everything  I say  to  a 
jest  even  when  jesting  is  entirely  out  of  place,  she  is 
restless — irritable, — she  will  hardly  remain  quiet  for  an 
hour.  She  used  to  be  so  fond  of  me,— and  now  . w y 
she  did  not  seem  to  be  at  all  glad  to  see  me  come  back, 
and  she  avoids  my  eyes  so  _ strangely ! Oh  M Gaston  . 
—did  you  think  of  the  warning  I gave  you  before  I left . 
—or  did  it  slip  your  memory  ? Did  I not  ask  you  to  see 
that  the  child  was  not  left  too  much  alone  t 

What  a strange  hardness  there  was  at  my  heart . er 
anxious  words,  her  eager  looks  excited  no  more  emotion 
in  me  than  this-that  with  each  moment  I grew  nicreas 
ingly  conscious  of  her  exceeding  physical  grace  and 

"Galways  remember  everything  you  say,  Heloise,”  I 
answered,  steadfastly  regarding  her  with  as  I know  a 
look  of  open  admiration,  and  watching  with  a half  smile 
the  rich  blood  mounting  to  her  cheeks,  while  an  amazed 
embarrassment  gathered  in  her  eyes.  “ But  I never  quite 


14# 


WORMWOOD. 


comprehended  why  you  should  so  greatly  concern  your- 
self about  the  matter.  Pauline  can  surely  be  trusted ! 
Do  you  not  think  so  ? ” 

u l do  think  sol”  she  responded  swiftly — brave  girl! 
—true  friend  !— ' “ but  it  is  hardly  fair  to  expect  the  dis- 
cretion of  age  and  experience  from  one  who  is  almost  a 
child, — and  such  a beautiful  child  too  ! Pauline  is  all 
impulse, — she  is . sensitive, — wayward  sometimes — she 
takes  sudden  fancies  and  sudden  dislikes, — and,  as  I told 
you  once  before,  she  hardly  understands  herself- ” 

Plere  she  broke  off  and  caught  her  breath,  while  her 
large  eyes  dwelt  on  me  in  a vague  fear.  “ Why  do  you 
look  at  me  so  strangely,  M.  Gaston  ? ” she  faltered  nerv- 
ously. “ What  is  it\?  ” 

I laughed  coldly.  “ What  is  it  ? Why — nothing,  ma 
chere  He'loise  ! — what  should  there  be?  It  is  you  who 
seem  to  hav£  vague  ideas  of  something  which  you  do  not 
express— and  it  is  I who  should  ask,  4 What  is  it  ? 5 ” 

She  still  breathed  quickly,  and  suddenly  laid  her  hand 
on  my  arm. 

“ You  too  are  changed  ! ” she  said.  “ Tell  me  truly  !— 
do  you  still  love  Pauline  ? ” 

“ Can  you  doubt  it  ? ” and  I smiled.  “ I love  her,— 
madly ! ” 

And  I spoke  the  truth.  The  passion  I felt  for  the 
little  frail  thing  whom  I could  see  from  where  I stood, 
flitting  about  the  garden  among  the  flowers,  was  indeed 
mad, — no  sane  mind  would  have  ever  indulged  in  such  a 
tumult  of  mingled  desire  and  hatred,  as  burned  in  mine. 

“ I am  going  to  her,”  I added  more  tranquilly,  seeing 
that  Heloi'se  seemed  alarmed  as  well  as  uneasy.  “ I shall 
ask  her  for  one  of  those  roses  she  is  gathering,  as  a gage 
d'1  amour .”  I moved  away, — then  paused  a moment. 

“ Your  trip  to  Normandy  has  done  you  good,  Heloise. 
You  are  looking  adorable  ! ” 

What  a lightning-glance  she  gave  me  !— it  swept  over 
me  like  the  death-flash  of  a storm  ! I stopped,  rooted  to 
the  ground,  as  it  were,  by  the  sudden  spiritual  dazzlement 
of  her  beauty, — why  did  my  heart-throbs  send  such  clam- 
orous . vibrations  through  my  frame? — what  force  was 
there  in  the  air  that  held  us  twain,  man  and  woman,  spell- 
bound for  a moment,  gazing  at  each  other  wildly  as 
though  on  the  brink  of  some  strange  destiny  ? In  that 


WORMWOOD. 


149 


one  brief  space  of  time  all  life  seemed  waiting  in  suspense, 
— and  had  I yielded  to  the  fiery  impulse  that  possessed 
me  then,  I should  have  clasped  that  fair  angelic  woman 
in  my  arms  and  called  her  love,  salvation,  hope,  rescue  l 
— I should  have  told  her  all, — given  her  my  very  soul  to 
keep,  and  so  I might  have  missed  perdition  ! But  it  was 
a mere  passing  madness, — I could  not  account  for  it  then, 
and  can  hardly  account  for  it  now, — but  whatever  shock 
it  was;  that  thus  by  magnetic  impulse  shook  our  nerves, 
it  moved  us  both  with  strong  and  singular  agitation,  for 
Heloise  fled  from  my  sight  as  though  pursued  by  some 
avenging  spirit, — and  I,  after  a couple  of  minutes’  pause, 
recovered  my  composure,  and  stepping  out  into  the  garden 
there  joined  Pauline.  She  looked  up  at  me  as  I ap- 
proached— her  face  wore  an  expression  of  extreme  weari- 
ness. 

“ How  long  is  this  to  last,  Gaston  ? ” she  murmured. 
“ How  long  must  I play  this  terrible  part  of  seeming  to 
be  what  I am  not  ? I am  so  tired  of  it ! — Oh  God  ! — so 
tired  ! ” 

I walked  silently  by  her  side  round  among  the  shadows 
of  some  tall  trees  to  a spot  where  we  were  out  of  the  ob- 
servation of  any  one  who  might  be  looking  from  the 
house-windows. 

“ Have  you  heard  from*  your  lover  ? ” I then  asked 
coldly. 

Her  head  drooped.  “ No  ! ” 

44  Do  you  think  it  likely  that  you  will  hear  ? ” 

She  sighed.  “ I believe  in  him,”  she  said.  “ If  my 
belief  is  vain — then  God  help  me  1 ” 

I studied  her  fair  and  delicate  features  scrutinizingly. 
She  was  lovely, — lovelier  in  her  grief  than  in  her  joy,  I 
thought — a broken  angel  in  a ruined  shrine.  But  her 
beauty  left  me  cold  as  ice, — impervious  as  adamant, — * 
Absinthe  had  numbed  the  tenderer  fancies  of  my  brain, 
and  in  obedience  to  its  promptings  I answered  her. 

“ That  is  what  all  criminals  say,  when  confronted  with 
the  disastrous  consequences  of  crime — 4 God  help  me  ! 9 
But  God’s  assistance  is  not  always  to  be  relied  upon, — it 
frequently  fails  as  in  cases  of  the  direst  necessity.  The 
beggar  says,  4 God  help  me  ! ’ yet  continues  to  beg  on, — 
the  suffering  cry,  4 God  help  us,’  and  still  they  starve 
and  weep, — the  dying  man  in  his  agony  exclaims,  4 God 


*5° 


WORMWOOD. 


help  me  ! ’ and  his  torments  are  not  softened  a whit, — and 
you,  poor  little  thing,  are  like  the  rest  of  us,  trusting  to  a 
divine  rescue  that  is  frequently  too  date  in  coming,  if  in- 
deed it  ever  comes  at  all.” 

She  gave  a languid  gesture  of  hopelessness. 

“ Then  God  is  cruel,”  she  said  wearily.  “ And  yet — 
He  made  these.” 

And  she  held  out  the  roses  she  had  lately  plucked  and 
made  a posy  of, — but  as  she  did  so,  the  fairest  bud  sud- 
denly crumbled  and  fell  in  a shower  of  pale  pink  leaves 
upon  the  ground. 

“Yes! — He  made  them, — made  them  to  perish! — for 
which  strange  and  unaccountable  end  He  has  seemingly 
made  all  things,  even  you  and  me,”  I responded,  taking 
her  cold  passive  hand  in  mine.  “ As  the  rose-leaves  fall, 
so  beauty  dies, — so  hope  passes, — so  fidelity  proves 
naught ! Silvion  Guidel  has  deserted  you,  Pauline  ! ” 

She  shivered,  but  made  no  reply. 

“ What  will  you  do  ? ” I went  on  mercilessly.  “ What 
way  is  there  left  for  yoir  to  escape  dishonor  ? How  will 
you  avert  shame  from  those  parents  whose  pride  is  centred 
in  you  ? Think  ! As  yet  they  know  nothing, — but  when 
they  do  know,  what  then  ? ” 

Her  blue  eyes  fixed  themselves  unseeingly  upon  the 
roses  in  her  hands, — her  lips  moved,  and  she  murmured 
faintly — 

“ I can  die  \ ” 

I was  silent. 

She  could  die, — this  little  fair  thing  for  whom  life  had 
scarcely  begun, — certainly,  she  could  die  ! We  all  have 
that  universal  remedy.  And  there  was  no  power  on 
earth  that  could  prevent  her,  if  she  chose,  from  deliber- 
ately shutting  out  the  world  forever  from  her  sight,  and 
finding  peace  in  death’s  acceptable  darkness.  Yes — she 
could  die — even  she  ! 

“ Pauline,  Pauline ! what  a fate ! ” I said  at  last.. 
“ How  terrible  to  realize  it ! — to  think  that  you — you  for 
whom  nothing  seemed  too  good,  too  happy,  or  too  bright, 
should  be  at  this  pass  of  dire  misfortune, — and  all  through 
the  black  base  treachery  of  a liar,  a traitor,  a dishonor- 
able cowardly  villain ” 

“ Stop  ! ” she  exclaimed  in  a low  fierce  voice  that 
startled  “You  shall  not  blame  him  in  my  hearing! 


WORMWOOD . 


*5* 


I have  told  you  I can  die,— but  I shall  die  loving  him,— 
adoring  him, — to  the  end  ! ” 

Oh  the  love  of  a desperately  loving  woman  ! Can  any- 
thing under  the  sun  equal  its  strength,  its  tamelessness, 
its  marvellous  tenacity  ! This  fragile  girl— wronged,  de- 
serted, ruined, — still  clung  to  the  memory  of  her  betrayer 
with  such  constancy  that  she,  not  having  yet  seen  full 
nineteen  years  of  existence,  could  calmly  contemplate 
death  for  his  sake  ! Ah  God  ! — why  could  she  not  have 
loved  me  thus  tenderly  ! I looked  at  her,  and  she  met 
my  gaze  with  an  almost  queenly  challenge  of  mingled 
sorrow  and  pride. 

“ You  are  brave,  Pauline,”  I said  quietly,  “ brave  to 
recklessness, — brave  to  the  extremest  limits  of  unreason- 
ing despair  ! But  pray  compose  yourself  and  listen  to  me. 
I am  more  cautious — perhaps  more  practical  in  the  fore- 
seeing of  events  than  you  can  be.  Of  course  it  is  well- 
nigh  impossible  to  calculate  the  social  result  of  our  un- 
happy position  towards  each  other  should  we  decide 
to  make  the  whole  affair  public, — but,  in  the  meanwhile, 
I want  you  to  understand  that  your  secret  is  safe  in 
my  hands, — the  honor  of  the  De  Charmilles  is  ( not 
yet  given  over  to  the  dogs  of  scandal ! ” I paused, 
and  a tremor  ran  through  her  frame,— she  knew,  as  I 
knew,  that  her  sin  was  one  that  her  father,  proud  of  his 
lineage  and  ancestral  glories,  would  never  forgive  and 
never  forget.  “ You  gave  me  credit  once  for  generosity/’ 
I continued,  “and  the  most  generous  thing  I could  do 
would  be  to  still  take  you  as  my  wife,  and  shield  your  name 
from  blemish  under  cover  of  mine.  For  your  parents’ 
sake  this  would  be  best  and  kindest, — but  for  me,  not  so 
well ! I doubt  much  whether  I could  ever  reconcile  my- 
self to  such  a course  of  action.  It  is  therefore  sincerely 
to  be  hoped  that  M.  Silvion  Guidel  will  find  it  consistent 
with  his  honor  ” — and  I laid  a sarcastic  emphasis  on  this 
word — “ to  write  and  inform  you  of  his  intentions  before 
the  day  appointed  for  your  marriage  with  me  comes  much 
close*  at  hand.  As  you  must  be  aware,  there  is  only  a 
space  of  about  ten  days  between  then  and  now.” 

She  looked  up  at  me  in  anguished  entreaty. 

“ And  must  I still  keep  silence  ? ” she  asked. 

“ Really,  mademoiselle,  that  is  entirely  as  you  please  ! ’* 
I returned  composedly.  “ I shall  not  speak — as  yet 


*5* 


WORMWOOD . 


but  if  you  choose  to  make  full  confession  to  your  parents 
or  to  your  cousin,  that  is  a different  matter.  No  doubt 
such  frankness  on  your  part  would  greatly  simplify  the 
whole  disastrous  affair, — but  this  must  be  left  to  your  own 
discretion  ! ” 

And  I smiled  slightly.  I knew  she  was  of  far  too 
shrinking  and  nervous  a temperament  to  brave  her  father’s 
fierce  wrath,  her  mother’s  despair,  and  the  wondering 
horror  and  reproach  of  all  her  friends  and  relatives,  so 
long  as  there  remained  the  least  chance  of  escape 
from  such  a terrible  expose.  If  Silvion  wrote  to  her, — 
if  Silvion  sent  for  her,- — she  would  of  course  fly  to 
join  him  and  leave  everything  to  be  discovered  when 
she  had  gone, — but  if,  on  the  contrary,  he  kept  silence 
and  made  no  sign,  why,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
but  to  wait — to  wait,  as  I before  said,  on  my  will!  I 
offered  htx  my  arm  to  escort  her  back  to  the  house, — 
she  accepted  it  mechanically,  and  together  we  returned  to 
the  drawing-room.  Heloise  was  there,  reading  aloud  from 
a newspaper  an  account  of  the  triumphs  of  a celebrated 
violinist  whose  name  had  recently  become  a sort  of  musical 
watchword  to  the  ardent  and  aspiring, — and  her  eyes 
sparkled  with  animation,  as,  looking  up  from  the  journal, 
she  told  us  she  had  been  invited  to  meet  this  same 
brilliant  “star”  at  a neighbor’s  house  the  next  evening. 
Her  aunt  smiled  at  her  enthusiasm, — and  the  Comte  de 
Charmilles  remarked — - 

“ Thou  shouldst  ask  him  to  try  thy  violin,  Heloise  ; — it 
is  not  every  demoiselle  who  possesses  a real  undoubted 
Stradivarius.” 

“ Is  it  a Strad  ? ” I asked,  with  some  interest,  fixing 
my  eyes  on  He'loise,  who  for  once  avoided  my  direct  gaze 
as  she  replied — 

“ Yes.  It  is  an  heirloom,  and  has  been  in  my  mother’s 
family  for  more  than  a hundred  years,  but  no  one  among 
us  ever  played  it  till  I suddenly  took  a fancy  to  try  my 
skill  upon  it.  There  is  rather  a sad  legend  attached  to  it 
too.”  + 

“ Ah,  now  we  shall  have  you  at  your  best,  Mademoiselle 
Heloise  ! ” said  my  father,  smiling.  “ You  will,  of  course, 
tell  us  this  legend  ? ” 

“ If  you  wish.”  And  Heloise,  moving  to  the  further 
end  of  the  room,  opened  her  violin-case  and  took  out  the 


WORMWOOD. 


■S3 


instrument.  “But  you  must 

3SS&& 

other  words.—can  y0"™ke  ,J'™£ ,*  'lu,„  examined  the 

managed  to  dectphe,  the 

following — 

•txssst&^s&z** ' 

Beneath  these  lines was  a 

Sl—tZts  t~our  eyes  incited  the 
meaning  of  the  motto.  =tnrv  goes  ” said  He'lolse 

;2hi5f“one  .Eft  his  timers  considered  the 

greatest  violinSX  in  the  world.  His  name  »«•£«* 

Lhis  monogram  18  the^  b^'  “'“hi«e»eJ  is.  that  he 
distinctly  deciphered.  T & ’ and  that  she 

loved  a great  lady  of  the  our  whi]e’  tpi  suddenly, 

showed  him  many  favors  f caDrice  she  deserted 

out  of  some  cruel  and  unaccountable  cap  , 

own  blood,  it  is  suppos  according  to  one 

apart  to  write  the  device  wi  i found* seemingly  broken 
account,  it  is  said  to  have  been  ^und  ^ngj 
by  the  side  of  his  dead  body.  If  this  be  true  u 

ftj^SEpBESStrf 

kmt  tacl  SI  the  last  prayer  of  its  long- 


J54 


WOA'MIVOOB. 


bore  faithful  witness  to  her  beauty’s  conquering  charm  » 
fm  f,X.peCtation  that  Heloise  would  play  some- 
mg  but  in  this  we  were  doomed  to  disappointment 
or  she  quietly  put  the  violin  back  in  its  case  and  locked’ 

wr>1WSfPlte  °f  he.r  aunt’s  affectionate  entreaty  that  she 
would  favor  us  with  one  little  morfeau.  * 

tW  f am  not  ln  t!?e  humor,  aunt,”  she  said  simply— and 

Dky  wel?  a-R  Ca7  °°k  m,,heu  eyes~ “ and  I should  not 
p ay  well.  Besides  — and  she  smiled  a little— “ you  must 

TnrTt^  that  there  IS'  a grand  maestro  just  now  in  Paris 
and  the  very  consciousness  of  his  presence  in  this  citv 
seems  actually  to  paralyze  my  efforts  ! ” ^ 

nnthT!*  i7itation  stiurred  me  that  she  should  attach  so 

^sta%  nP?hlanCf  f°  -^e  a,rrival  °f  a mere  professional 
s^tar  in  the  art  of  violin-playing. 

“ Do  you  know  the  man  ? ” I asked  abruptly 
Not  personally,”  she  replied.  “As  I told  you,  I am 
eVeDi"S'  *»'  1 ^ 

I shrugged  my  shoulders. 

“ MhonXeenthUSiaStiC’  He1°ise  ! ” 1 remarked  satirically. 

I thought  you  were  a veritable  Pallas  Athene— always 
calm,  always  cold  ! ” 

in  her  eyes^  * ^ a Strange  deePenmg  brilliancy 

“ Cold  ! ” she  faltered,  “ I ” 

I was  near  her  as  she  spoke  and  our  glances  met 
Once  more  that  curious  magnetic  thrill  ran  through 
me, -once  more  that  inexplicable  shock  seemed  to  agi- 

— ifnH S'  d passed  as  had  passed  before, 

and  just  then  M.  Vaudron  came  up  to  us  with  some 

sorts^of  dXark/hat/Cattered  °Ur  thou§hts  into  all 
ts  of  different  and  commonplace  directions.  The 

evening  ended,  to  all  appearances,  as  satisfactorily  as  it 

had  begun,— our  elders  evidently  had  no  shadow  of  sus- 

KinJh>  anyth?ng  was  wrong,— and  when  I parted  from 
P.  uln  e,  it  was  with  a carefully  studied  assumption  of  that 
over-like  reluctance  to  say  farewell  which  once  had  been 

“ vooTLht  feigni,ng-  Heloise,  as  she  murmured 

good-night!  gave  me  her  hand,— I held  it  a moment 
n my  own,  then  kissed  it  with  gravfe  courtesy.  What 

h°vidfh,!Ve  P°ssfsed  me  then,  I wonder,  that  I should 
have  felt  such  a keen  sense  of  delight  as  I saw  the  color 


WORMWOOD.  I5S 

. w fair  oale  cheeks  like  a sudden  glow  of  sunset 

rush  over  her  fair  paie  cnee  conscious- 

on  alabaster!  W^S  devil  that  had 
•ess  of  .he  ToUTonce  and  make  a 

already  begun  to  preac  y ' destined  to 

gibe  of  principle,  and  there  was  of  true  man- 

&%!>!£  Mehty  to  Eve^ 

and  more  absolute,  till  l wjth  my  eyes  open 

i'tfSidSl*'  voluntarily  drifted 
slowly  yet  steadily  down  l 


I 


WOKMWOO&i 


i56 


XVI. 

Time  went  on,  and  yet  no  sign  from  Silvion  GuidkL 
One  letter  only,  from  his  mother  to  the  Cure,  thanking 
him  for  all  the  care  and  kindness  he  had  shown  to  “ notre 
cher  et  bien-aime  Saint  Silvion/’  and  stating  that  this 
same  “ saint”  was  in  excellent  health  and  progressing 
admirably  with  his  religious  studies,  was  all  the  news  we 
received.  Now  and  then  I thought  I would  go  to  Brittany, 
and  seek  him  out  and  fight  him  to  the  death  there, — but, 
after  a little  cogitation,  I always  dismissed  the  idea.  It 
was  better,  I decided,  to  wait  on.  For  Pauline  had  written 
to  him  twice, — and  I naturally  imagined  that  his  answer 
to  the  desperate  appeals  of  the  girl  he  had  betrayed  would 
be  a swift  and  unexpected  return  to  Paris, — unless,  indeed, 
he  should  prove  himself  to  be  altogether  a man  beneath 
even  a beggar’s  contempt  Meantime  all  the  arrange- 
ments for  my  marriage  with  Pauline  went  smoothly  on^ 
without  any  interference  from  either  of  the  principal  par- 
ties concerned.  It  was  settled  that  the  civic  registration 
should  take  place  first,  in  the  grand  drawing-room  of  the 
Comte  de  Charmilles,  before  a large  and  brilliant  assem- 
blage of  friends  and  guests, — the  religious  ceremony  was  to 
follow  afterwards  in  the  pretty  little  church  of  which  M. 
Vaudron  was  the  presiding  genius.  The  invitations  had  all 
been  sent  out, — one  going  to  Silvion  Guidel  in  due  course, 
—and  I,  languidly  amused  thereat,  wondered  how  he  would 
take  it ! As  for  me,  I was  now  quite  resolved  on  my  own 
plan  of  action.  My  drugged  brain  had  evolved  it  in  the 
wanderings  of  many  dreamful  nights, — and  though  the 
plot  was  devilish,  to  me,  in  my  condition,  it  seemed  just. 
Why  should  not  the  wicked  be  punished  for  their  wicked- 
ness ? Holy  Writ  supports  the  theory, — for  did  not 
David,  . “ a man  after  God’s  own  heart,”  pray  that  his 
enemies  might  be  consumed  as  with  fire,  and  utterly  de- 
stroyed ? Dear,  good,  gentle,  Christian  friends  ! — you  who 
love  your  Bibles  and  read  them  with  diligent  attention,  I 
beg  you  will  study  the  inspired  pages  thereof  again  and 
yet  again,  before  you  dare  to  utterly  abhor  me,  who  am 


WORMWOOD. 


*57 


your  fellow-mortal  ! Consider  the  pious  joy  with  which 
you  yourselves  look  forward  to  seeing  those  particular 
persons  whom  you  specially  abhor,  roasting  in  Hell  for 
all  eternity,  while  you,  sweet,  clean  souls,  walk  placidly  the 
golden  pavement  of  serenest  Heaven  ! It  is  possible, 
nay  more  than  probable,  that  you  will  be  disappointed  in 
these  sublime  anticipations, — still,  you  can  nurse  the 
generous  hope  while  here  below,  only  do  not  turn  round 
and  condemn  me,  because  I also,  in  the  spirit  of  David, 
desired  to  see  my  enemies  “ confounded  and  put  to 
shame  ” in  this  life  ! Had  I no  patience,  you  may  piously 
ask,  to  wait  till  after  death  ? No ! Because  “ after 
'death  ” is  a shadowy  circumstance  ; one  cannot  be  cer- 
tain what  will  happen,  and  the  present  wise  age  does  well 
to  seize  its  opportunities  for  good  or  for  evil  while  it  can, 
here  and  now  ! 

In  the  short  interval  that  had  yet  to  elapse  before  the 
day  of  my  intended  nuptials,  a curious  change  worked 
itself  in  me, — a change  of  which  I was  palpably,  physi- 
cally conscious.  I can  only  explain  it  by  saying  that  my 
brain  seemed  dead.  A stony  weight  lay  behind  my  tem- 
ples, cold  and  hard  and  heavy.  I shall  perhaps  make 
myself  understood  better  if  I analyze  my  sensations  thus  : 
— namely,  that  when  my  brain  was  in  its  former  norma! 
condition  before  the  absinthe-furia  had  penetrated  to  its 
every  cell,  it  was  like  a group  of  sensitive  fibres  or  cords 
which,  when  touched  by  memory,  sentiment,  affection,  or 
any  feeling  whatsoever,  would  instantly  respond  in  quick 
pulsations  of  eager  and  easy  comprehension.  Now,  it 
seemed  as  if  all  those  fibres  had  snapped  in  some  strange 
way,  leaving  in  their  place  a steel  reflector  of  images, — a 
hard  bright  substance  on  which  emotion  simply  flashed 
and  passed  - without  producing  any  actual  responsive 
vibration.  Yet  certain  plans  of  action  seemed  to  be  part 
of  this  steel  pressure, — plans  which,  though  they  ap- 
peared in  a manner  precise,  still  lacked  entire  consecu- 
tiveness,— and  not  the  least  remarkable  phase  of  my 
transformation  was  this, — that  good , or  what  moralists 
call  good,  presented  itself  to  me  as  not  only  distinctly  un- 
natural, but  wholly  absurd.  In  brief,  the  best  and  clear- 
est expression  I can  give  to  my  condition  of  mind  for  the 
benefit  of  those  medical  experts  who  have  perhaps  not 
thoroughly  comprehended  the  swift  and  marvellous  in- 


WORMWOOD . 


I5S 

fluence  of  the  green  nectar  of  Paris  on  the  human  nerves 
and  blood  is,  that  my  former  ideas  and  habits  of  life  were 
completely  and  absolutely  reversed.  We  are  told  that  the 
composition  of  the  brain  is  a certain  gray  matter  in  which 
countless  shifting  molecules  work  the  wheels  of  thought 
and  sensation  ; — in  the  healthy  subject  they  work  har- 
moniously and  in  order, — but — and  this  is  to  be  remem- 
bered— a touch  will  set  them  wrong, — a severe  blow  on 
the  outside  case  or  skull  may,  and  often  does,  upset  their 
delicate  balance  ; — what  think  you  then  of  a creeping  fire, 
which,  by  insidious  degrees,  quickens  them  into  hot  con- 
fused masses,  and  almost  changes  their  very  nature  r 
Aye  ! — this  is  so  !— and  neither  gods  nor  angels  can  pre- 
vent it.  Give  me  the  fairest  youth  that  ever  gladdened  a 
mother’s  heart,-— let  him  be  hero,  saint,  poet,  whatever 
you  will, — let  me  make  of  him  an  absintheur ! and  from 
hero  he  shall  change  to  coward,  from  saint  to  libertine, , 
from  poet  to  brute.  You  doubt  me  ? Come  then  to 
Paris, — study  our  present  absinthe-drinking  generation, — 
absintheurs,  and  children  of  absintheur s, — and  then, — 
why  then  give  glory  to  the  English  Darwin  ! For  he  was 
a wise  man  in  his  time,  though  in  his  ability  to  look  back, 
he  perhaps  lost  the  power  to  foresee.  He  traced,  or 
thought  he  could  trace,  man’s  ascent  from  the  monkey, — 
but  he  could  not  calculate  man’s  descent  to  the  monkey 
again.  He  did  not  study  the  Parisians  closely  enough 
for  that!  If  he  had,  he  would  most  assuredly  have 
added  a volume  of  prophecies  for  the  future  to  his  famous 
pedigree  of  the  past. 

Curious  and  significant  too,  among  my  other  sensa- 
tions, was  the  dull  aversion  I had  taken  to  the  always 
fair,  though  now  sorrowful,  face  of  Pauline.  The  girl  in 
her  secret  wretchedness  annoyed  me, — there  were 
moments  when  I hated  her,— and  again,  there  were  times 
when  I loved  her.  Loved  her  ? — yes  ! — but  not  in  a way 
that  good  women  would  care  to  be  loved.  Moreover, 
Heloise  St.  Cyr  had  come  to  possess  an  almost  weird 
fascination  for  me.  Yet  I saw  very  little  of  her,  for  a 
new  interest  had  suddenly  entered  her  life, — the  great 
violinist  whom  she  had  been  so  eager  to  meet,  had  heard 
her  play,  and  had  been  so  enchanted,  either  with  her  or 
the  valuable  Stradivarius  she  owned,  that  he  had  volun- 
teered, for  art’s  sake,  to  give  her  a lesson  every  day 


WORMWOOD. 


1 59 


during  the  brief  time  he  remained  in  Paris.  After  some 
little  hesitation,  and  an  anxious  consultation  with  her 
aunt  as  to  the  propriety  of  this  arrangement,  the  offer 
was  accepted, — and  she  was  straightway  drawn  into  an 
artistic  and  musical  circle  which  was  considerably 
divided  from  ours.  I never  had  a chance  of-  either  see- 
ing or  hearing  the  brilliant  violin -maestro  whose  triumphs 
were  in  every  one’s  mouth, — I only  knew  that  he  was  not 
old, — that  some  people  considered  him  handsome,  and 
that  he  was  entirely  devoted  to  his  art, — but  no  mo-pe 
personal  news  than  this  could  I obtain  concerning  him. 
Heloise  too  was  singularly  reticent  on  the  subject,  only 
her  wonderful  gray-green  eyes  used  to  shine  with  a 
strange  fire  whenever  he  was  mentioned,  and  this  vaguely 
vexed  me.  However  I was  not  given  much,  opportunity 
to  brood  on  the  matter, — as  the  famous  “ star  ” very  soon 
took  his  departure,  and  beyond  the  fact  that  Heloise 
played  more  divinely  than  ever,  I almost  forgot,  in  the 
rush  of  more  pressing  events,  that  he  had  crossed  the 
even  tenor  of  her  existence. 

Three  days  before  my  intended  marriage — only  three 
days ! — I received,  to  my  utter  amazement,  a letter  from 
Silvion  Guidel.  It  began  abruptly,  thus — 

“ I understand  that  you  know  everything, — therefore 
you  will  realize  that  no  explanation  can  make  me  more 
of  a villain  than  I acknowledge  myself  to  be.  I cannot 
marry . I was  ordained  a priest  of  Holy  Church  yester- 
day. Circumstances  have  moulded  my  fate  in  opposition 
to  my  will, — and  I can  only  throw  myself  upon  your 
mercy  and  ask  you  not  to  visit  my  crime  on  the  head  of 
the  poor  child  I have  wronged.  I cannot  write  to  her — I 
dare  not ; I am  weak-natured  and  afraid  of  woman’s 
grief.  The  only  way  left  to  me  for  the  atonement  of  the 
evil  I have  done  is  through  a life  of  hard  penitence  and 
prayer.  This  I have  chosen,  entreating  you  all  to  pardon 
me  and  to  think  of  me  as  one  dead. 

Silvion  Guidel.” 

A fierce  oath  broke  from  me  as  I crushed  this  epistle 
it » my  hand.  Specious  villain  ! — canting  hypocrite ! 
Ordained  a priest ! — sheltered  in  the  pale  of  the  Church 
— vowed  to  perpetual  celibacy, — and  what  iwas  worse 


V 

160  WORMWOOD. 

still,  exempt  from  the  call  of  a duel ! If  I could  have 
seen  him  at  that  moment  before  me  I would  have  sprung 
at  him  like  a wild  beast,  thrown  him  on  the  ground,  and 
trampled  upon  his  fair  false  face  till  not  a vestige  of  its 
beauty  was  left!  For  some  minutes  I gave  way  to  this 
impotent  mad  fury, — then,  gradually  recollecting  myself,  ■ 
smoothed  out  the  crumpled  letter  and  read  it  through 
again.  The  coils  of  fate  round  the  unfortunate  Pauline 
had  grown  more  and  more  entangled,  for  now,  supposing 
the  whole  truth  were  told,  she  would  be  in  a worse  pre- 
dicament than  ever, — since,  unless  her  lover  chose  to  leave 
the  priesthood  as  rapidly  as  he  had  entered  it,  marriage 
was  impossible.  True  enough,  her  only  rescue  lay  with 
me  ! — true,  that  if  I chose  to  accept  Silvion  Guidel’s  cast- 
off light-o’-love  as  my  wife,  no  one  need  be  any  the  wiser 
save  only  myself  and  the  unhappy  girl  whose  miserable 
secret  was  in  my  hands.  But  I resented  the  position 
which  appeared  thus  forced  upon  me,  and  in  this  I think 
was  no  worse  than  any  other  man  might  have  been  under 
similar  circumstances.  Combined  however  with  my 
natural  resentment,  there  was  another  and  more  cruel 
feeling, — an  insatiate  longing  to  make  Pauline  understand 
thoroughly  the  heinous  enormity  of  her  sin.  For  at  pres- 
ent, she  seemed  to  me  to  have  merely  the  stagey  senti- 
ment of  the  French  melodramatic  heroine,  who,  after  dis- 
gracing herself,  dishonoring  her  parents,  and  dealing 
wholesale  misery  all  round,  scruples  not  to  boast  of  her  ■ 
“ amour  ” as  a wonderful  virtue  recommendable  to  the 
special  intercession  of  Heaven.  It  was  in  this  particular 
phase  of  her  character  that  she  had  grown  hateful  to  me, 
— while  her  physical  beauty  remained  what  it  always  had 
been  in  my  eyes, — exquisitely  captivating  to  the  senses 
and  resistlessly  adorable.  Yet  with  all  my  busy  brooding 
on  the  one  subject,  I cannot,  say  I ever  came  to  any  de- 
finitely settled  plan.  What  I did  do  in  the  long  run  was 
the  wild  suggestion  of  a moment,  worked  out  by  one  hot 
flash  from  the  burning  glance  of  the  “ green  fairy  ” in 
whose  intoxicating  embrace  I had  drowsed  my  soul  away 
for  many  nights  and  days.  I considered  deeply  as  to 
whether  I should  show  the  letter  I had  received  from 
Silvion  Guidel  to  Pauline  or  not  ? Better  wait,  I thought, 
and  see  how  the  tide  of  events  turned, — there  was  yet 
time, — let  her  cling  to  her  false  hope  a little  longer^r-that 


WORMWOOD . l6x 

frail  sheet-anchor  would  all  too  soon  be  torn  from  her 
feeble  hold  ! 

And  so  the  dull  minutes  rounded  into  hours, — hours 
that  passed  in  the  usual  uneven  way,  some  slow,  some 
rapidly,  according  to  the  mood  in  which  they  were  sever- 
ally met  and  disposed  of,  and  the  eve  of  my  marriage 
came.  All  seemed  well.  I played  my  part, — Pauline 
played  hers.  I called  at  the  De  Charmilles’,  and  found 
everything  in  the  bustle  of  active  preparation, — the 
dining-room  was  being  decorated  with  flowers, — large 
garlands  and  bouquets  occupied  almost  every  available 
space  in  the  entrance-hall,  and  cn  my  inquiring  for  my 
fiancee , I was  shown  by  the  smiling  excited  maid-servant 
into  the  morning-room  where,  after  a few  minutes,  Pauline 
entered.  She  looked  very  pale,  but  very  calm, — and  came 
straight  up  to  me  with  a strange  wistfulness  in  her  deep 
blue  eyes. 

“ You  have  not  heard  from  Silvion  ? ” she  said  at  once, 
in  a low  but  earnestly  inquiring  tone. 

“I!”  and*  I shrugged  my -shoulders  as  though  in 
amazement  at  the  absurdity  of  such  a question. 

“ No, — I suppose  he  would  not  write  to  you,”  she  mur- 
mured sadly.  “ Then,  he  must  be  ill,  or  de^d.” 

Strange  tenacity  of  woman’s  faith  ! She  could  not, 
would  not,  believe  he  had  deserted  her.  She  resumed, 
with  a curious  air  of  grave  formality — 

“ It  seems  you  really  intend  to  marry  me,  Monsieur 
Beauvais  ? ” 

“ It  seems  so,  truly,  mademoiselle  ! ” I returned  frigidly. 

She  looked  at  me  steadfastly. 

“ Listen  ! ” she  said.  “ I know  why  you  do  it, — for 
my  father’s  sake — and  for  the  sake  of  good*  M.  Vau- 
dron, — to  save  honor  and  prevent  scandal, — you  do  it  for 
this, — and  I — I do  not  know  whether  to  thank  you  or 
curse  you  for  your  pity  ! ” She  paused,  trembling  with 
the  excess  of  her  emotion,  then  continued — “ But — un- 
derstand me,  Gaston — I will  never  live  with  you  1 I will 
never  owe  to  you  so  much  as  a crust  of  bread.!  I will  go 
on  with  this  ceremony  of  marriage,  as  you  seem,  for  the 
sake  of  others,  to  think  it  best — but  afterwards — after- 
wards I will  go  away  to  die  somewhere  by  myself,  where 
I shall  trouble  no  one,  and  where  not  even  dear  good 
dL^lo'ise  will  be  able  to  find  me.  Disgraced,  I will  bear 


i62 


WORMWOOD. 


the  solitude  of  disgrace, — ruined,  I will  abide  by  my 
ruin  ! ” 

I studied  her  features  with  a cold  scrutiny  that  made 
her  cheeks  flush  and  her  limbs  tremble,  though  her  eyes 
remained  quietly  fixed  on  mine. 

“ You  have  made  your  plans,  I see,”  I said.  “ But 
I — I also  have  plans  ! You  say  you  will  go  away  to 
* die  ’ — not  so  ! — you  mean  you  will  go  in  search  of  your 
lover  ! Has  it  ever  struck  you  that  he  may  not  want 
you  ? Men  are  like  children — when  their  women-toys 
are  broken,  they  care  for  them  no  longer.  So  far  things 
have  gone  on  smoothly  in  our  two  families,  and  by  ret- 
ience  we  have  fought  off  scandal, — but  I must  ask  you 
to  remember  that  jf  I once  bestow  my  name  upon  you, 
you  will  owe  me  obedience, — if  I make  you  my  wife,  the 
past  must  be  blotted  out  forever,  and  I shall  expect  from 
you  a wife’s  duty.” 

I smiled  as  I spoke,  for  I saw  her  shrink  and  shiver 
away  from  me  as  though  an  icy  wind  had  touched  her 
with  its  breath. 

“ How  can  the  past  be  blotted  out  forever,”  she 

faltered, “ when ” Here  she  paused  suddenly  and  drew 

herself  erect.  “ Gaston  Beauvais,  when  I came  to  you 
and  told  you  all  that  night,  I placed  my  fate  in  your 
hands.  I asked  you  to  break  your  engagement  with 
me — and  you  made  excuse  and  delay — you  would  not. 
Nor  would  you  let  me  speak.  You  told  me  you  would  act 
for  the  best,  and  I trusted  everything  to  you,— I thought 
you  would  spare  me, — I believed  that  you  would  be 
generous  and  pitiful.  But  you  have  changed, — you  have 
changed  so  greatly  that  I scarcely  know  you — except 
that  I am  sure  you  do  not  wish  me  well.  There  is  some- 
thing cruel  in  your  eyes — something  fatal  in  your  smile  ! 
Tell  me  truly — why  do  you  marry  me  ? ” 

She  regarded  me  with  a touch  of  fear  as  she  put  the 
question. 

“Pardon,  mademoiselle  ; but  you  anticipate  ! ” I re- 
plied calmly.  “ I have  not  married  you — yet  ! ” 

“ To-morrow ” she  began. 

Springing  to  her  side  I grasped  her  suadenly  by  the 
arm.  I felt  a strange  fire  pricking  in  my  veins, — one  of 
those  accesses  of  heat  and  fury  which  were  growing  fre- 
quent with  me  of  late. 


WORMWOOD. 


163 

u To-morrow  has  not  come  ! ” I said  in  low  fierce  ac- 
cents. “ Wait  till  it  does  ! What  do  you  take  me  for, 
silly  child  ? Do  you  think  you  can  play  with  a man’s 
heart  as  you  have  played  with  mine,  and  meet  with  no 
punishment  ? Do  you  think  you  can  wreck  a whole  life 
and  not  be  scourged  for  such  wanton  cruelty  ? I have,  it 
is  true,  screened  your  name  from  obloquy  up  till  now, — 
with  yourself  alone  and  me  rests  the  horrible  secret  of 
your  shame.  But  wait — wait  ! — you  are  not  married  to 
me  yet — and  if  you  have  enough  courage  for  the  task,  you 
can  still  escape  me  ! u Proclaim  your  own  infamy  to  your 
parents — to  your  pure  and  saintly  cousin  Pleloise  to- 
night,— break  their  hearts — shake  down  their  high  faith  in 
you  to  the  dust  of  dishonor, — but  before  doing  so,  mark 
you! — it  would  be  as  well  to  ask  M.  Vaudron  for  the 
latest  news  of  his  admirable  nephew  ! ” 

Her  eyes  dilated  with  terror,  and  she  repeated  the 
words  after  me,  like  a dull  child  learning  some  difficult 
lesson. 

“ Ask  M.  Vaudron  for  the  latest  news  of  his  nephew  ! ”' 
— and  her  very  lips  turned  white  as  she  spoke — “the 
latest  news  of  Silvion  ! You  know  it  then  ? ” — and  she 
turned  upon  me  with  a gesture  of  imperial  authority 
— “ tell  me  what  it  is  ! How  dare  you  withhold  it  ? Tell 
me  instantly  ! — for,  if  he  is  ill,  I must  go  to  him, — if  he  is 
dead,  I must  die  ! ” 

I laughed  savagely. 

“ He  is  dead  to  you,  mademoiselle  ! ” I said.  “ But 
otherwise,  he  is  alive  and  well,  and  at  this  very  moment 
he  is  probably  at  his  holy  prayers  ! He  has  entered  the 
priesthood  ! — and  by  that  simple  act,  has  escaped  both 
my  sword  and  your  embraces  ! ” 

She  gave  a smothered  cry — staggered  and  seemed 
about  to  fall, — I caught  her  on  my  arm,  and  she  leaned 
against  me  struggling  for  breath. 

“ Silvion, — Silvion  a priest  ! ” she  gasped.  “ Oh  no  t 
— not  after  all  his  promises  ! — it  is  not — it  cannot  be  true  ! ” 
“ Ask  the  Cure,”  I said.  “ He  no  doubt  has  the  news 
by  this  time.  He  is  a good  man, — not  used,  like  his 
nephew,  to  the  telling  of  lies.” 

She  put  away  my  supporting  arm  gently,  yet  decidedly, 
and  pressing  one  hand  against  her  heart,  looked  me  full 
in  the  eyes. 


WORMWOOD. 


J&64 

“ How  do  you  know  this  ? ” she  asked.  " Why  should 
you , of  all  people  in  the  world,  be  the  first  to  tell  it  to 
me?” 

I read  her  suspicions, — and  returned  her  glance  with 
one  of  the  utmost  scorn. 

“ You  distrust  my  word  ? ” I queried  ironically. 
“ Well,  perhaps  you  will  accept  your  lover’s  own  voucher 
for  the  information.  Here  it  is, — pray  read  it  for  yourself 
and  be  satisfied.” 

And  drawing  from  my  pocket  the  letter  I had  received, 
I unfolded  it  and  spread  it  open  on  t^ie  table  before  her. 
With  a sharp  exclamation,  she  snatched  it  up  and  quickly 
perused  its  every  word, — then — oh  strange  nature  of 
woman  ! — she  covered  it  with  passionate  kisses  and  tears. 

“ Good-bye,  Silvion  ! ” she  sobbed  softly.  “ Good* 
bye,‘  my  love  ! — my  dearest  one  ! — good-bye  ! ” 

Turning  to  me,  she  said,  while  the  drops  still  rained 
through  her  lashes — 

“ May  I keep  this  letter  ? ” 

I shrugged  my  shoulders  disdainfully, — her  melodra- 
matic sentimentality  filled  me  with  abhorrence. 

u Certainly,  if  you  choose  ! ” 

“ It  is  my  death-warrant,”  she  went  on  quietly,  trying 
to  steady  her  quivering  lips,  “ and  it  is  signed  by  the 
dearest  hand  in  the  world  to  me  ! Oh,  I shall  die  quite 
bravely  now  ! — there  will  be  nothing  to  regret,  even  as 
there  is  nothing  to  hope.  But,  Gaston,  you  are  very  cruel 
to  me  ! — you  are  not  like  your  old  kind  self  at  all.  I am 
so  poor  and  slight  and  miserable  a thing — I cannot  under- 
stand how  it  can  be  worth  your  while  to  judge  me  so 
harshly.  Never  mind — it  does  not  master — I shall  not 
trouble  you  long.  I have  been  very  Wicked, — yes — I 
know  that, — and  you,  Gaston,  you  wish  me  to  be  pun- 
ished ? Well  then,  does  it  not  please  you  to  know  that  my 
heart  is  broken  ? My  heart — my  heart  ! — Silvion  ! ” 

And,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  she  suddenly 
turned  and  fled  from  the  room.  I heard  the  door  close 
behind  her, — and  I thought  myself  alone.  Every  nerve 
in  my  body  pulsated  with  the  suppressed  excitement  of 
my  mind,  and,  leaning  one  hand  against  my  hot  brows,  I 
pressed  my  fingers  over  my  eyes  to  try  and  shut  out  the 
pale  green  light  that  now  and  then  flashed  before  them, 
when  a touch  on  my  shoulder  startled  me.  I iooked  up, 


WORMWOOD . 


l65 

—Heloise  St.  Cyr  stood  beside  me,  pale  and  grave  as  a 
sculptured  nun,  and  I stared  at  her  in  vague  amazement. 
“What  is  the  matter,  M.  Gaston  ? ” she  inquired. 

I forced  a laugh. 

“Matter,  Heloise?  Truly, — nothing!” 

“ Nothing  ! ” she  echoed  incredulously.  “ Why,  then, 
was  Pauline  in  tears  ? She  passed  me  just  now  without  a 
word, — but  I heard  her  sobbing.” 

I met  her  questioning  gaze  unconcernedly. 

“ A lover’s  qnarrel,  chere  Pallas  Athene  ! ” I said  lightly. 
“ Have  you  never  heard  of  such  things  ? ” 

A frown  darkened  the  fairness  of  her  classic  brows. 

“ A quarrel  on  the  eve  of  marriage  ? ” she  queried  coldly. 
“ It  seems  unnatural  and  unlikely.  You  are  deceiving  me, 
M.  Gaston.!’ 

I smiled. 

“ Possibly  ! ” I answered.  “ But  what  would  you  ? I 
fancy  we  were  born  into  the  world,  all  of  us,  for  the  sin- 
gular purpose  of  deceiving  each  other ! ” 

Her  eyes  filled  with  a vague  fear  and  surprise. 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” she  faltered  nervously. 

“ Do  not  ask  me,  Heloise  ! ” And,  advancing  a step 
or  two,  I caught  her  shrinking  hand,  and  held  it  prisoned 
in  my  fevered  clasp.  “ I cannot  tell  you  what  I mean  ! I 
do  not  know  myself.  There  are  certain  phases  of  feeling 
and  passion — are  there  not? — which  storm  the  soul  at 
times, — we  are  shaken,  but  we  cannot  explain  the  shock 
even  to  our  innermost  consciences  ! Do  not  speak  to  me 
— do  not  look  at  me  ! — Your  eyes  would  draw  out  the 
secret  of  a madman’s  misery  ! Ask  your  own  heart  if  there 
are  not  strange  and  complex  emotions  within  it,  as  in  mine, 
which  have  never  been  uttered,  and  never  will  be  uttered  ! 
If  we  could  only  speak  frankly,  we  men  and  women,  at 
certain  moments  when  the  better  part  of  us  is  paramount, 
— my  God  ! — if  we  could  only  dare  to  be  ourselves,  who 
knows  ! the  world  might  be  happier  ! ” 

With  this  incoherent  outburst,  the  drift  of  which  I my- 
self scarcely  understood,  I hurriedly  kissed  the  hand  I 
neld,  released  it,  and  left  her.  How  she  looked,  I know 
not, — something  clamorous  and  wild  in  my  blood  warned 
me  against  another  chance  meeting  of  her  eyes  with  mine. 
I should  have  caught  her  to  my  breast  and  frightened  her 
with  *ne  passion  of  my  embrace, — and  yet — did  I love  her  £ 


i66 


IVGKM  WOOD. 


I cannot  tell, — I think  not.  It  was  only  the  indefinable 
attraction  of  her  personality  that  overpowered  my  senses, 
— when  I was  once  away  from  her  and  outside  in  the  open 
air,  my  emotion  passed,  just  as  a faintness  that  has  been 
brought  on  by  the  powerful  perfume  of  tropical  lilies  will 
pass  in  the  reviving  breath  of  a cool  wind.  I walked 
rapidly  homeward,  thinking  as  I went  of  the  morrow,  and 
wondering  what  it  would  bring  forth.  Either  Pauline  de 
Charmilles  would  be  mine,  or  she  would  not.  It  all 
seemed  to  rest  on  the  mere  turn  of  a hair.  For  in  my 
condition  of  brain  nothing  in  the  whole  world  appeared 
decided,  because  the  eventuality  of  death  was  always  pres- 
ent. I calmly  considered  and  balanced  the  probability 
that  Pauline,  now  knowing  the  pusillanimous  part  her  lover 
had  chosen  to  play,  might  kill  herself.  It  is  the  common 
way  out  of  a love-difficulty  with  many  Frenchwomen.  Or 
— I might  die  ! That  would  be  droll ! and  unexpected  too, 
— for  I felt  life’s  blood  beating  very  strong  in  me,  and  I 
had  now  something  to  live  for.  I considered  with  a good 
deal  of  self-congratulation,  the  admirable  cunning  with 
which  I had  managed  to  keep  the  secret  of  my  growing 
absinthe-mania  from  my  father  and  every  one  connected 
with  me.  True,  some  stray  remarks  had  been  made  once 
or  twice  on  a change  in  my  looks,  but  this  was  chiefly  set 
down  to  overwork.  And  my  father  had  occasionally  remon- 
strated with  me  against  a quick,  querulous  impatience  of 
temper  which  I frequently  displayed,  and  which  was  new 
to  my  disposition, — but  with  his  usual  good-nature,  he 
had  found  plenty  of  excuses  for  me  in  the  contemplation 
of  all  the  business  I had  sucessfully  got  through  during 
his  absence  in  England.  The  alteration  in  me  was  really 
almost  imperceptible  to  unsuspecting  outsiders  ; only  I 
myself  knew  how  complete  and  permanent  it  was. 

That  night, — the  night  before  my  wedding-day,  I drank 
deeply  and  long  of  my  favorite  nectar, — glass  after  glass  I 
prepared,  and  drained  each  one  off  with  insatiable  and 
ever-increasing  appetite, — I drank  till  the  solid  walls  of 
my  own  room,  when  at  last  I found  myself  there,  appeared 
to  me  like  transparent  glass  shot  through  with  emerald 
flame.  Surrounded  on  all  sides  by  phantoms, — beautiful, 
hideous,  angelic,  devilish, — I reeled  to  my  couch  in  a sort 
of  waking  swoon,  conscious  of  strange  sounds  everywhere, 
like  the  clanging  of  brazen  bells  and  the  silver  fanfar- 


WORMWOOD. 


i6y 

ronade  of  the  trumpets  of  war, — conscious  too  of  a 
singular  double  sensation, — namely,  as  though  Myself 
were  divided  into  two  persons,  who  opposed  each  other  in 
a deadly  combat,  in  which  neither  could  possibly  obtain 
even  the  merest  shadow-victory  ! It  was  a night  of  both 
horror  and  ecstasy, — the  beginning  of  many  more  such 
nights, — and  though  I was  hurried  to  and  fro  like  a leaf 
on  a storm-wind,  among  crowding  ghosts,  open  tombs, 
smiling  seraphs,  and  leering  demons,  I was  perfectly  con- 
tent with  the  spectral  march  of  my  own  brain-pageantry. 
And  I quite  forgot — as  I always  wish  to  forget — that  there 
are  fools  in  the  world  for  whom  heart-freezing  absinthe 
has  no  charms,  and  who  therefore  still  prate  like  children 
and  idiots,  of  God  and  Conscience  I 


f 


* - 

£ 


i63 


WORMWOOD. 


XVII. 

My  marriage-morning ! — it  broke  out  of  the  east  with 
the  sweetest  forget-me-not  radiance  of  blue  over  all  the 
tranquil  sky.  I rose  early — I was  aware  of  a violent 
throbbing  in  my  temples, — and  now  and  then  I was  seized 
with  a remarkable  sensation,  as  though  some  great  force 
were,  so  to  speak,  being  hurled  through  me,  compelling 
me  to  do  strange  deeds  without  clearly  recognizing  their 
nature.  I took  a long  walk  before  breakfast,  but  though 
the  air  and  motion  did  me  some  amount  of  good,  I never- 
theless found  myself  totally  unable  to  resist  certain  im- 
pulses that  came  over  me, — as,  for  instance  to  laugh  aloud 
when  I thought  of  that  white  half-naked  witch  who  had 
been  my  chief  companion  in  the  flying  phantasmagoria  of 
the  past  wild  night.  How  swiftly  she  had  led  me  into  the 
forgotten  abodes  of  the  dead,  and  how  her  mere  look  and 
sign  had  sufficed  to  lift  the  covers  of  old  coffins  and  ex- 
pose to  view  the  mouldering  skeletons  within  ! — the  eye- 
less skulls  that,  for  all  their  lack  of  vision,  had  yet  seemed 
to  stare  upon  us  while  we  mocked  their  helpless  deso- 
lation ! Oh,  she  was  a blithe  brave  phantom  thai 
Absinthe-witch  of  mine  ! — and  one  thing  she  had  done 
had  pleased  me  right  well.  We  had  flown  through  the 
dark,  she  and  I,  on  green  outspread  wings,  and,  finding 
on  our  way  a church-door  standing  open  we  had  entered 
in.  There  we  had  seen  silver  lamps  steadily  burning, — 
there  we  had  heard  the  organ  pealing  fouh  strange 
psalmody,  and  there  we  had  discovered  a priest  kneeling 
on  the  altar-steps  with  wondrous  Raffaelle-like  face  up- 
turned to  the  shining  Host  above  him.  “ Silvion  Gui- 
del ! ” we  had  shrieked  loudly  in  his  ears,  my  elfin 
comrade  and  I — “ Die,  Silvion  Guidel ! ” And  “ Die, 
Silvion  Guidel ! ” was  echoed  back  to  us  in  a thunder  of 
many  voices, — while,  as  the  chorus  smote  the  air,  lo ! the 
Host  vanished  from  sight, — the  altar  crumbled  into  dust, 
there  was  no  more  sign  of  salvation,  hope,  or  rescue  for 
that  criminal  there  who  dared  to  kneel  and  pi  ay, — there 
was  nothing — nothing  but  the  yawning  blackness  of  an 


WORMWOOD. 


169* 

open  grave  ! How  my  fair  witch  laughed  as  she  pointed 
to  that  dull  deep  hole  in  the  ground !— how  I kissed  her 
on  the  ripe  red  lips  for  the  appropriateness  of  her  death- 
ful suggestion  ! — how  I toyed  with  her  fiery-gold  hair  ! — *• 
and  how  we  fled  off  again,  more  swiftly  than  the  wind, 
through  scenes  wilder  yet  not  so  haunting  to  the  memory ! 
My  glorious  Absinthe-fairy  ! — she  was  nearly  always  with 
me  now, — in  different  shapes,  arrayed  in  different  hues, 
but  always  recognizable  as  a part  of  me . Her  whispers 
buzzed  continually  in  my  brain  and  I never  failed  to  list- 
en ; — and  on  this  particular  morning — the  morning  of 
my  intended  marriage, — she  was  as  close  to  me  as  my 
very  blood  : — she  clung  to  me,  and  I made  no  effort  as  I 
had  no  desire  to  shake  her  off. 

Ten  o’clock  was  the  hour  fixed  for  the  civic  ceremony,, 
in  order  that  ample  time  might  be  given  to  allow  the 
religious  one  to  take  place  before  noon.  Just  as  we  were 
about  to  start  for  the  scene  of  the  nuptials,  my  father,  who 
had  been  watching  me  attentively,  suddenly  said — 

“ Gaston,  art  thou  well  ? ” 

I looked  full  at  him  and  laughed. 

“Perfectly  well,  mon  Fere!  Why  ask  such  a ques- 
tion ? ” 

“Your  eyes  look  feverish,”  he  answered,  “and  I have 
noticed  that  your  hand  shakes.  If  you  were  not  my  son* 
I should  say  you  had  been  drinking  ! ” 

I bit  my  lips  vexedly, — then  forced  a smile. 

“ Merci ! But  cannot  you  allow  for  a little  unusual  ex- 
citement on  one’s  wedding-day  ? ” 

His  countenance  cleared,  and  he  laid  one  hand  affec- 
tionately on  my  shoulder. 

“ Of  course  ! Still — to  be  quite  honest  with  you,  Gas- 
ton, I must  say  I have  lately, observed  an  alteration  in  your 
looks  and  manner  that  does  not  bode  well  for  your  health. 
However,  no  doubt  a change  of  air  will  do  you  good.  A 
month  in  Switzerland  is  a cure  for  almost  any  ailing  man.” 
Switzerland  ! I laughed  again.  It  had  been  settled  for 
us  by  our  friends  that  we  were  to  pass  our  honeymoon,  my 
bride  and  I,  by  the  shores  of  the  blue  romantic  lakes  that 
Byron  loved  and  sang  of.  I had  never  seen  the  splendor 
of  the  snow-mountains, — I have  never  yet  seen  them,  and 
it  is  very  certain  now  that  I never  shall ! 

I avoided  any  further  converse  with  my  father,  and  was 


WORMWOO'D. 


J70 

glad  that  so  little  time  was  left  us  for  fhe  chance  of  a tete- 
a-tete . Punctual  to  the  hour  appointed,  we  drove  to  the  De 
Charmilles’  residence  and  found  the  outside  of  the  house 
lined  and  blocked  with  carriages ; — the  guests  were  arriving 
in  shoals.  We  entered  the  grand  drawing-room  ; it  was 
exquisitely  adorned  with  palms  and  flowers,  and  for  one 
dazed  moment  I saw  nothing  but  a whirl  of  bright  faces 
magnificent  bouquets  tied  with  floating  ends  of  white  and 
and  colored  ribbon.  People  seized  my  hand  and  shook  it 
warmly ; — I heard  myself  congratulated,  and  managed  to 
enunciate  a few  formal  replies.  Presently  I came  face  to 
f^ice  with  the  bridesmaids, — all  clad  in  palest  pink, — all 
ready  for  the  church  ceremony,  which  to  them,  as  women, 
was  of  course  the  most  interesting  part  of  the  performance, 
— and  in  the  centre  of  this  group  stood  Heloise  St.  Cyr, 
looking  strangely  pale  and  grave.  Whether  it  was  the  pink 
color  of  her  robe,  or  the  brilliant  tint  of  the  superb  roses 
she  carried,  I could  not  then  decide,  but  certain  it  was  that 
I had  never  seen  her  so  wan  and  wistful-eyed,  and  as  I 
.gravely  saluted  her,  I wondered  whether  she  knew  any- 
thing,— whether  Pauline,  in  a sudden  fit  of  desperate 
courage  had  told  her  all  ? An  odd  fierce  merriment  began 
to  take  hold  of  me, — I smiled  as  I pressed  her  extended 
gloved  hand. 

“You  are  looking  lovely  as  usual,  Heloise, M I said,  in  a 
low  tone, — for,  indeed,  her  fair  and  spiritual  beauty  exer- 
cised over  me  a spell  of  mingled  fear  and  fascination, — 
but  are  you  not  somewhat  fatigued  ? ” 

Her  eyes  rested  steadily  on  mine. 

“ No,”  she  replied  calmly  ; “ I am  only  a little  anxious 
about  Pauline.  To  me,  she  seems  very  ill.” 

I feigned  the  deepest  concern.  “ Indeed  ! I trust ” 

She  swept  out  of  the  group  of  bridesmaids  and  beckoned 
me  to  follow  her  apart.  I did  so. 

“ Something  terrible  has  happened, — I am  sure  of  it  ! ” 
she  said  with  passionate  emphasis.  “ You  spoke  so 
strangely  yesterday,  and  she  has  wept  all  night.  Oh,  why 
—why  will  you  net  tell  me  what  it  is  ? The  child  is  afraid 
of  you  ! ” 

“ Pauline  afraid  of  me!”  I exclaimed,  raising  my  eye- 
brows in  simulated  amazement.  “ Really,  H^loi'se,  I can- 
not understand 91 

She  made  a movement  of  impatience  and  laid  her  bou- 


WORMWOOD. 


ijr 

quet  of  flowers  lightly  against  her  lips.  “ Hush  ! we  can- 
not speak  now; — it  is  too  late  ! But — if  you  meditate  any 
wrong  or  cruelty  to  Pauline — well ! — God  may  forgive  you,, 
but  / will  not ! ” 

Her  eyes  flashed  a positive  menace, — she  looked  em- 
press-like in  that  moment  of  wrath,  and  my  admiring; 
glance  must  have  told  her  as  much,  for  the  color 
crimsoned  her  cheeks  to  a deeper  hue  than  that  of  the: 
red  roses  in  her  hand.  But  that  she  resented  my  look: 
was  evident, — for  she  turned  from  me  with  a gesture  of 
dislike  and  disdain,  and  as  I noted  her  proud  step  and 
mien,  a sudden  ferocity  possessed  me.  A curse,  I thought 
on  all  such  haughty,  beautiful  women  who  dare  to  wound 
with  a glance,  and  slay  with  a smile  ! Let  them  learn  to 
suffer  as  they  make  men  suffer  ! — nothing  less  will  bring 
down  their  wantonness  or  impress  upon  their  arrogant 
natures  the  value  of  humility ! I walked  with  a firm  step^ 
up  to  the  table  where  the  civic  authorities  were  already 
seated  with  their  books  and  pens,  and  gayly  shook  hands 
with  all  I personally  knew.  M.  Vaudron  was  of  course 
not  present, — his  part  of  the  business  was  to  be  trans- 
acted at  the  church,  where  no  doubt  he  was  even  now 
waiting.  The  Comtesse  de  Charmilles  stood  near  me, — - 
there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  she,  like  her  niece 
Heloise,  looked  pale  and  anxious,  while  in  her  smile  as 
she  saluted  me  affectionately,  there  was  something  almost 
appealing.  The  Count  himself  had  left  the  room  ; nat- 
urally, all  present  knew  his  errand.  There  was  a hush  of. 
expectation, — the  bright  eyes  of  the  lovely  and  fashion- 
able women  assembled  were  turned  eagerly  towards  the 
door, — it  opened,  and  Pauline  entered,  in  full  bridal 
attire,  leaning  on  her  father’s  arm.  White  as  a snowflake 
— impassive  as  marble, — she  seemed  to  be  walking  in  her 
sleep,  her  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy, — she  looked  neither  tex- 
tile right  nor  to  the  left, — she  returned  none  of  the  gay 
greetings  of  her  friends  who  recoiled  from  her  in  evident 
amazement  at  her  strange  demeanor ; — once  or  twicer 
only  a thin  shadowy  smile  parted  her  lips,  and  she  bowed 
mechanically  as  though  the  action  were  the  result  of  a 
carefully-learned  lesson.  On  she  came, — and  I heardi 
whispered  observations  on  her  deadly  paleness  ; but  I was, 
too  busy  with  my  own  rising  frenzy  to  heed  aught  else.. 
I was  enraged  ! — what  business  had  she.  this  fair,  frail,. 


1J2 


WORMWOOD. 


Ihelpless-looking  girl,  to  come  to  me  as  though  she  were  & 
white  fawn  being  led  up  to  have  its  tender  throat  slit ! — 
bow  dare  she  pose  before  me  like  a statue  of  grief  with 
that  look  of  quenchless  unutterable  despair  frozen  on  her 
face  ! — aye  ! — how  dare  she,  knowing  herself  so  vile,  thus 
mutely  invite  compassion  ! One  of  those  irresistible 
sudden  rushes  of  demoniacal  impulse  stronger  than  my- 
self seized  me  ; — I felt  the  blood  surging  in  my  ears 
and  burning  at  my  finger-tips, — I was  in  the  grasp  of  a 
force  more  potent  than  fire  to  destroy, — and  without  act- 
ually realizing  quite  what  I meant  to  do  or  to  say,  I waited  ; 
waited  till  the  stately  Comte  de  Charmilles, — proud  par- 
ent!— reached  me  where  I stood, — waited,  till  he,  by  a 
gracefully  courteous  gesture,  appeared  to  dumbly  present 
me  with  my  bride ! Then  the  clamorous  devil  in  me 
broke  loose  and  had  its  way, — then , yielding  to  its  subtle 
suggestions,  I tasted  my  revenge  ! — then , I had  the  satis- 
faction of  seeing  the  haughty  old  aristocrat  blench  and 
tremble  like  a leaf  in  the  wind  as  he  met  my  coldly  scorn- 
ful gaze  and  the  mockery  of  my  smile ! Drawing  myself 
stiffly  erect  just  as  he  came  within  an  arm’s  length  of  me, 
I made  a distinct  and  decided  movement  of  rejection, — 
then  raising  my  voice  so  that  it  might  be  heard  by  all 
present,  I said  slowly  and  with  studied  politeness — 

“ M.  le  Comte  de  Charmilles,  I am  sincerely  sorry  to 
give  you  pain  ! — but  truth  is  truth,  and  must  sometimes 
be  told,  no  matter  how  disagreeable  ! In  the  presence 
therefore  of  these  our  relatives,  friends,  and  guests,  permit 
me  to  return  your  daughter  to  your  paternal  care  ! — I, 
Oaston  Beauvais,  refuse  to  marry  her  ! ” 

For  one  moment  there  was  horrified  stillness, — the 
old  Count  turned  a ghastly  white  and  seemed  paralyzed 
— Pauline  moved  not  at  all.  Then  my  father’s  clear  voice 
rang  through  the  hushed  room  sharply. 

“ Gaston,  art  thou  mad  ! ” 

I looked  at  him  calmly. 

“ Au  contraire , I am  quite  sane,  I assure  you,  mon  pere! 
I repeat, — I utterly  decline  the  honor  of  Mademoiselle 
Pauline  de  Charmilles’  hand  in  marriage.  That  is  all  ! ” 

Another  dead  silence.  Not  a person  in  the  room  stirred 
and  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  me.  Every  one  seemed 
stricken  with  alarm  and  amazement,  save  Pauline  her- 
self who,  like  a veiled  image,  might  have  been  carved  in 


WORMWOOD. 


*7$ 

stone  for  any  sign  of  life  she  gave.  Suddenly  one  of  the 
civic  authorities  turned  round  from  the  table  on  which  the 
books  of  registration  lay  prepared.  He  was  an  old  man 
of  punctilious  and  severe  manner,  and  he  regarded  me 
sternly  as  he  said — 

“ Upon  what  grounds  does  Monsieur  Gaston  Beauvais 
propose  to  break  his  plighted  word  to  Mademoiselle  De 
Charmilles  ? He  should  state  his  reasons  as  publicly  as 
he  has  chosen  to  state  his  withdrawal  ! ” 

I looked  at  the  Count.  His  face  was  flushed  and  he 
breathed  heavily,  I saw  him  nervously  press  his  passive 
daughter’s  arm  closer  to  his  side. 

“Yes!  on  what  grounds?”  he  demanded  thickly  and 
hurriedly.  “ Truly  it  is  a question  that  needs  answering  l 
— on  what  grounds  ? ” 

I felt  rather  than  saw  the  instinctive  movement  of  the 
whole  brillant  assemblage  of  guests  towards  me, — every 
one  was  bending  forward  to  listen, — I caught  a glimpse 
of  the  pale  horrified  face  of  Heloise  St.  Cyr,  and  just  then 
Pauline  raised  her  sorrowful  blue  eyes  and  fixed  them 
upon  me  with  a world  of  silent  reproach  in  their  grief- 
darkened  depths.  But  what  cared  I for  her  looks  ? I 
was  mad,  and  I revelled  in  my  madness  ! What  mattered 
anything  to  me  save  the  clutch  of  the  fiend  at  my  throat 
— the  devil  that  compelled  me  to  fling  away  every  thought 
of  gentleness,  every  merciful  and  chivalrous  impulse  to 
the  winds  of  hell  ! 

“ On  what  grounds  ? ” I echoed  bitterly.  “ Simply — 
dishonor  ! — shame  ! Is  this  not  enough  ? Must  I speak 
still  more  plainly  ? Then  take  all  the  truth  at  once  ! —I 
cannot  accept  as  my  wife  the  cast-off  mistress  of  Silviorr 
Guidel ! ” 


WORM  n uOjiX 


XY1I1. 

The  blow  had  fallen  at  last,  and  with  crushing  effect. 

“Oh  vile  accusation  ! ” cried  the  Count,  shaking  his 
daughter  from  his  arm.  “ Pauline  ! — Speak  ! Is  this 
true  ? ” 

Unsupported  she  stood,  and  feebly  raised  her  hands, 
clasping  them  together  as  though  in  prayer;  a strange 
wild  smile  crossed  her  pale  lips, — such  a smile  as  is 
sometimes  seen  on  the  faces  of  the  dying ; but  in  her 
eyes, — beautiful  passionate  dark-blue  eyes  ! — the  fatal 
confession  of  her  misery  was  written.  No  one  looking 
upon  her  then  could  have  doubted  her  guilt  for  an  in- 
stant. In  a single  upward  despairing  glance  she  admitted 
everything — her  lips  moved,  but  not  a sound  issued  from 
them, — then,  all  silently,  as  snow  slips  in  a feathery 
weight  from  the  bending  branch  of  a tree,  she  fell  prone 
like  a broken  flower.  A tremulous  murmur  of  compassion 
rippled  through  the  room, — but  nevertheless,  every  one 
hung  back  from  that  insensible  form, — aye,  every  one  ! — 
for  the  Comtesse  de  Charmilles  had  swooned  in  her  chair, 
and  it  was  more  comme  il faut  to  minister  to  her,  the 
blameless  wife  and  respectable  matron,  than  to  the 
wretched  child  whose  disgrace  had  been  thus  publicly 
proclaimed  ! Every  one  hung  back  did  I say  ? No, — not 
every  one  ; for  while  I stood  gazing  at  the  scene,  savagely 
satisfied  at  the  havoc  I had  wrought,  Heloise  St.  Cyr 
sprung  forward  like  an  enraged  pythoness,  her  whole  form 
quivering  with  wrath  and  sorrow,  and  flinging  herself  on 
her  knees  beside  her  unconscious  cousin,  she  lifted  her 
partially  from  the  ground,  and  held  her  to  her  breast  with 
passionate  tenderness. 

“ Lache !”  she  cried,  flashing  her  indignant  eyes  full 
upon  me,  while  the  scornful  word  from  her  lips  whipt  me 
as  with  a scourge.  “ Coward  ! Cruel,  vile  coward  ! 
Shame  upon  you ! — shame ! Oh,  what  a fine  boast  of 
honor  you  can  make  now,  to  think  you  have  cast  down 
this  poor  little  life  in  the  dust  and  blighted  it  forever  ! A 
s woman's  life  too ! — a life  that  is  powerless  to  do  more 


WORMWOOD. 


than  suffer  the  wrongs  inflicted  upon  it  by  the  wanton 
wickedness  of  men  ! Pauline  ! Pauline  ! Look  at  me,, 
darling ! Look  at  Heloise,  who  loves  thee, — who  will 
never  forsake  thee — pauvre,  pauvre  petite  ! Leave  her  ta 
me  ! ” she  exclaimed  almost  fiercely  as  one  of  the  younger 
bridesmaids,  trembling  and  fearful,  timidly  came  forward 
to  volunteer  her  assistance.  “ Leave  her — desert  her,  as 
every  one  will,  now  she  is  broken-hearted ; it  is  the  way 
of  the  world  ! Why  do  you  wait  here,  Gaston  Beauvais  ? 
— and  her  contemptuous  glance  fell  so  witheringly  upon 
me,  that  for  the  moment  I was  awed,  and  the  hot  frenzy 
of  my  brain  seemed  to  grow  suddenly  stilled — “ you  have 
done  your  premeditated  work — go!  You  have  had  ven- 
geance for  your  wrong — enjoy  it ! Had  you  been  a true 
man  you  might  have  wreaked  your  wrath  on  the  chief 
actor  in  this  tragedy, — the  murderer,  not  the  victim  ! ” She 
paused,  white  and  breathless ; then,  seeming  to  summon 
all  her  forces  together,  she  continued  passionately,  “ May 
your  wickedness  recoil  on  your  own  head !— may  the  ruin 
you  have  brought  on  others  come  down  with  tenfold  vio- 
lence upon  yourself  ! — oh  ! may  God  punish  you  ! — He 
must — He  will — if  Heaven  holds  any  justice  ! ” She 
paused  again,  panting  excitedly,  and  one  of  the  lady 
guests  here  touched  her  on  the  shoulder. 

“Heloise  ! Heloise  ! Be  calm — be  calm  ! 

“ Calm  ! ” she  echoed  with  a wild  gesture.  “ How  can 
I be  calm  when  Pauline  may  be  dead  ! Dead  ! — and  he 
— he  has  killed  her ! Oh,  Pauline,  Pauline  ! my  little 
darling  ! — my  pretty  one  ! — Pauline  ! ” And,  breaking  into 
sobs  and  tears,  she  kissed  the  cousin’s  cold  hands  and 
death-like  face  again  and  again. 

Now  to  me,  all  this  disorder  and  excitement  presented 
itself  merely  as  a curious  scene, — quite  stagey  in  fact, 
like  a “ set  ” from  a romantic  opera,— I could  have  laughed 
aloud,  after  the  fashion  of  the  murderess  Gabrielle  Bom- 
pard,  when  she  was  shown  the  graphic  police-illustrations 
of  her  own  crime, — and  even  as  it  was,  I smiled.  1 
noticed  several  people  looking  at  me  in  amazed  disgust, 
— but  what  did  I care  for  that ! The  merest  soup^on  oi 
truth  always  disgusts  society ! Meanwhile,  the  assem- 
blage had  broken  up  in  entire  confusion, — every  one  was 
departing  silently  and  almost  as  if  by  stealth.  The  civic 
authorities  had  taken  solemn  and  sympathizing  leave  of 


WORMWOOD. 


376 

the  Comte  de  Charmilles,  who  sat  rigidly  erect  in  an  arm- 
chair, making  no  response  whatever  to  anything  that  was 
said  to  him, — some  one  had  been  despatched  with  a 
message  to  the  Cure,  M.  Vaudron,  to  inform  him  that  the 
ceremony  was  broken  off, — the  Comtesse  had  been  as- 
sisted to  her  apartment, — servants  were  now  lifting  the 
insensible  figure  of  Pauline  from  the  ground, — and  amid 
it  all,  I stood  quietly  looking  on,  vaguely  amused  at  the 
whole  performance.  It  entertained  me  in  a sort  of  dim 
fashion  to  observe  that  I was  now  generally  avoided  by 
those  who  had  previously  been  eager  to  claim  acquaint- 
ance with  me, — the  departing  guests  made  me  no  saluta- 
tion, and  I appeared  to  be  held  in  sudden  and  singular 
abhorrence.  What  a droll  world,  I thought ! Always 
prating  about  morality, — and  yet  when  a man  makes  a 
bold  stand  for  morality  and  publicly  declares  he  will  not 
marry  a woman  who  is  the  victim  of  an  esclandre , he  is 
looked  upon  as  a heartless  wretch  and  cruel  barbarian  ! 
Such  a thing  should  be  done  quite  quietly  and  privately, 
whispers  society.  Indeed ! Why  ? How  are  the  in- 
terests of  “ morality  ” to  be  served  by  hushing  such 
matters  up  among  the  exalted  few  ? I was  still  musing  on 
this,  and  on  human  inconsistency  generally,  when  my 
father  touched  me  on  the  arm. 

“ Come  away  from  this  house  of  affliction,”  he  said 
sternly.  “ Come  away!  Your  presence  here  now  is 
nothing  but  an  insult ! ” 

How  fierce  the  fine  old  man  looked,  to  be  sure  ! It 
occurred  to  me  as  being  rather  odd  that  he  should 
seem  so  indignant ; but  I followed  him  mechanically. 
We  were  just  about  to  leave  the  house,  when  a serv- 
ant ran  after  us  with  a card  which  she  put  into  my 
hands,  departing  instantly  again  without  a word.  A 
challenge,  I thought  derisively? — who  was  there  in  all 
that  fashionable  crowd  of  men  that  would  care  to  draw  a 
sword  in  Pauline’s  honor!  No  one,  truly;  for  the  card 
simply  bore  the  name  of  the  Comte  de  Charmilles,  with 
the  following  words  written  across  it  in  pencil : “I  re- 
quest that  Monsieur  Gaston  Beauvais  will  call  upon  me 
to-morrow  before  noon.”  I thrust  it  in  my  pocket,  and 
walked  after  my  father  who  had  preceded  me,  and  who 
was  now  waiting  impatiently  for  me  outside  the  great 
£orte-cochere  of  the  Count’s  residence,  keeping  his  head 


WORMWOOD 


177 


carefully  turned  away  from  the  gaze  of  the  various 
owners  of  the  departing  carriages,  in  order  that  he  might 
not  be  compelled  to  recognize  them  or  talk  with  them 
of  what  had  just  taken  place.  When  I joined  him,  he 
marched  on  stiffly  and  in  perfect  silence  till  we  were  well 
cut  of  sight  of  everybody — then  he  turned  round  upon  me 
and  gave  vent  to  a short  sharp  oath, — his  eyes  glittering 
and  his  lips  trembling. 

“Gaston,  you  have  behaved  like  a villain!  I would 
not  have  believed  that  my  son  could  have  been  capable  of 
such  a coward’s  vengeance  ! ” 

I looked  at  him,  and  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

“You  are  excited,  mon  pere  ! What  have  I done,  save 
speak  the  truth,  and,  as  the  brave  English  say,  shame  the 
devil  ? ” 

“ The  truth — the  truth  ! ” said  my  father  passionately. 
“ Is  it  the  truth  ? and  if  it  is,  could  it  not  have  been  told 
in  a less  brutal  fashion  ? You  have  acted  like  a fiend  ! — 
not  like  a man  ! If  Silvion  Guidel  be  a vile  seducer,  and 
that  poor  child  Pauline  his  credulous,  ruinr  d victim,  could 
you  not  have  dealt  with  him  and  have  spared  her  ? God  ! 
I would  as  soon  wring  the  neck  of  a bird  that  trusted  me, 
as  add  any  extra  weight  to  the  sorrows  of  an  already 
broken-hearted  woman  ! ” 

Gallant  old  preux-chev alien  ! He  meant  what  he  said, 
I knew, — and  I — 1 had  been  wont  to  share  his  sentiments, 
not  so  very  long  ago  ! But  I said  nothing  in  response  to 
his  outburst ; I merely  hummed  the  fragment  of  a tune 
under  my  breath,  my  doing  so  causing  him  to  stare  at  me 
in  indignant  surprise. 

“ I suppose  it  is  true  ? ” he  broke  forth  again.  “ It  is 
not  a malicious  trumped-up  lie  ? ” 

“ As  I heard  of  it  first  from  the  lips  of  the  lady  con- 
cerned in  it,  I have  no  reason  to  doubt  its  accuracy ! ” I 
murmured  coldly. 

“Then  you  have  known  of  it  for  some  time  ? ” 

I bent  my  head  assentingly. 

“ Then  why  not  have  spoken  ? ” he  cried  wrathfully. 
4i  Why  not  have  told  me?  Why  not  have  done  everything, 
— anything , rather  than  proclaim  the  fact  of  the  poor  mis- 
erable little  girl’s  disgrace  to  all  the  world  ? Why,  above 
all,  did  you  not  challenge  Guidfel  ? ” 

“ I w*s  prepared  to  do  so  when  he  suddenly  left  for 
12 


WORMWOOD. 


178 

Brittany,”  I rejoined  tranquilly ; “ and  once  there,  he 
knew  how  to  give  my  justice  the  slip  ; he  has  entered  the 
priesthood  ! ” 

“ By  Heaven,  so  he  has  ! ” And  my  father  struck  his 
walking-stick  heavily  on  the  ground.  “ Miserable  pol- 
troon ! — sanctimonious  young  hypocrite ! ” 

“ I am  glad,”  I interrupted,  smiling  slightly,  “ that  you 
at  last  send  the  current  of  your  wrath  in  the  right  direc- 
tion ! It  is  rather  unjust  of  you  to  blame  me  in  the 
affair ” 

“ Parbleu  ! you  are  as  much  a villain  as  he  ! ” exclaimed 
my  father  fiercely.  “ Both  cowards  ! — both  selfishly  bent 
on  the  ruin  of  a pretty  frail  child  too  weak  to  resist  your 
cruelty  ! Fine  sport,  truly  ! Bah  ! I do  not  know  which 
is  the  worst  scelerat  of  the  two  ! ” 

I stopped  in  my  walk  and  faced  him. 

“ Are  we  to  quarrel,  sir  ? ” I demanded  composedly. 

“ Yes  ! — we  are  to  quarrel  ! ” he  retorted  hotly.  “ There 
is  something  in  my  blood  that  rises  at  you  ! — that  sickens 
at  you,  though  you  are  my  son  ! I do  not  excuse  Guidel, 
— I do  not  excuse  Pauline,— I do  not  say  you  could  have 
married  one  who  by  her  own  confession  was  dishonored; 
— but  I do  say  and  swear  that  in  spite  of  all,  you  could 
have  comported  yourself  like  an  honest  lad,  and  not  like 
a devil  incarnate.  Who  set  you  up  as  a judge  of  justice 
or  morality  ? What  man  is  there  in  the  world  with  such 
clean  hands  that  he  dare  presume  to  condemn  the  mean- 
est creature  living  ! I tell  you  plainly  that,  after  your 
conduct  of  to-day,  the  same  house  cannot  hold  you  and 
me  together  in  peace  ! — there  is  nothing  for  it  but  that  we 
must  part.” 

“ As  you  please  ! ” I answered  coldly.  “ But  you  will 
allow  me  to  remark  that  it  is  very  curious  and  unreason- 
able of  you  to  find  such  fault  with  me  for  publicly  refus- 
ing to  marry  one  who  was  certainly  not  fit  to  be  your 
daughter,  or  to  inhabit  the  house  where  my  mother  died.” 

“ Don’t  talk  of  your  mother  ! ” And  such  a sudden  fury 
lighted  his  eyes  that  I involuntarily  recoiled.  “ She  would 
have  been  the  first  to  condemn  your  behavior  as  cruel 
and  unnatural.  She  had  pity,  tenderness,  and  patience 
for  every  suffering  thing  ! She  was  an  angel  of  grace  and 
charity!  You  cannot  have  much  of  her  nature;  and 
truly  you  seem  now  to  have  little  cf  mine  ! Some  strange 


WORMWOOD . 


i7$ 

demon  seems  to  inhabit  your  frame, — and  the  gener- 
ous, warm-hearted  young  fellow  I knew  as  my  son  might 
be  dead  for  aught  I recognize  of  him  in  you ! I do  not 
condemn  you  for  refusing  to  marry  Pauline  de  Charmilles, 
— I condemn  you  for  the  manner  of  your  refusal  ! Enough  1 
— I repeat,  we  must  part, — and  the  sooner  the  better!  I 
could  not  bear  to  meet  the  friends  we  know  in  your 
company  and  think  of  the  ruthless  barbarity  you  have  dis- 
played towards  a fallen  and  utterly  defenceless  girl.  You 
had  best  leave  Paris  and  take  a twelvemonth’s  sojourn  in 
some  other  land  than  this, — I will  place  plenty  @£  cash 
at  your  disposal.  It  is  impossible  that  you  should  stay  on 
here  after  what  has  occurred;  monJDieu! — a madman, 
— a drunkard, — a delirious  absintheur  might  be  capable  of 
such  useless  ferocity  ; — but  a man  with  all  his  senses  about 
him — pah ! it  is  the  action  of  a beast  rather  than  of 
rational,  reasoning  human  being!  ” 

I made  no  reply.  The  words  “ a delirious  absintheur 
might  be  capable  of  such  useless  ferocity,”  reiterated 
themselves  over  and  over  again  in  my  ears,  and  caused 
me  to  smile  ! Of  course  I might  have  gone  on  arguing 
the  pros  and  cons  of  my  case  ad  infinitum , from  the 
vantage-ground  of  that  particular  sort  of  moral  justice  I 
had  chosen  to  take  my  stand  upon, — but  I was  not  in  the 
humor  for  it, — besides  which,  my  father  was  too  in- 
dignant to  be  argued  with. 

Arrived  at  our  own  house,  our  man-servant  Dunois 
greeted  us  with  a surprised  face,  and  the  information  that 
the  Cure,  M.  Vaudron,  “ looking  very  ill,”  was  waiting  in 
the  library. 

“ There  is  no  marriage  ? ” he  questioned,  gazing  at  us 
open-eyed. 

“ None,  Dunois  ! ” returned  my  father  sharply.  “ Ma- 
demoiselle is  not  well ; it  is  postponed  ! ” 

Oh,  famous  old  courtier  ! He  would  tell  a lie  thus  to 
his  own  servant,  just  to  shield  a woman’s  reputation  a 
moment  longer  ! There  are  a good  many  men  like  him 
— I used  to  be  of  a similar  disposition  till  the  “ fairy 
with  the  green  eyes  ” taught  me  more  worldly  wisdom  ! 

“ I will  see  poor  Vaudron  alone,”  he  said,  addressing  me 
stiffly  as  Dunois  retired.  “ His  grief  must  be  beyond  ex- 
pression,— and  he  can  dispense  with  more  than  one  wit* 
ness  of  it.” 


i8o 


IVORMIVOOD. 


I bowed — and  ascended  the  staircase  leisurely  to  my* 
own  room.  Once  shut  in  there  alone,  I was  seized  with 
an  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter ! How  absurd  it  all 
seemed  ! What  a triumph  of  pathos  ! To  think  of  all  those 
fine  birds  of  Parisian  society  flocking  to  see  a grand 
wedding,  and  coming  in  for  a great  scandal  instead  ! And 
the  pride  of  the  De  Charmilles ! — where  was  it  now  > 
Down  in  the  dust ! — down,  down  like  the  lilies  of  France, 
never  to  bloom  white  and  untarnished  again  ! What  a 
terrified  fool  the  old  Count  had  looked  when  I made  my 
formal  rejection ! — and  as  for  Pauline — she  was  not  Pau- 
line ! — she  was  a ghost ! — a spectre  without  feeling,  voice 
or  voluntary  movement ! All  the  life  she  had  was  in  her 
eyes, — great  reproachful  blue  eyes  ! — they  haunted  me 
like  twin  burning  sapphires  hung  in  a vault  of  darkness  ! 

Sitting  listlessly  in  an  arm-chair  at  my  window,  I 
looked  out,  doing  nothing,  but  simply  thinking,  and  try- 
ing to  disentangle  the  thronging  images  that  rose  one 
after  the  other  with  such  confusing  haste  in  my  brain.  I 
wondered  what  my  father  and  old  Vaudron  were  talking 
about  below  ! Me  ? Yes  ! — no  doubt  they  were  shaking 
their  gray  heads  mournfully  over  my  strange  wayward- 
ness ! Smiling  at  the  idea,  I shut  my  eyes — and  straight- 
way saw  a wealth  of  green  and  gold  and  amber  flame — 
waves  of  color  that  seemed  to  rise  heavingly  towards  me, 
while  faces,  lovelier  far  than  mortal  ones,  floated  forth 
and  smiled  at  me  in  wise  approval  of  all  that  I had  done* 
Opening  my  eyes  again,  I gazed  into  the  street, — the 
people  passed  hither  and  thither, — jingling  trams  ran  by 
with  their  human  freight  to  and  fro, — the  soft  young 
foliage  of  the  trees  shimmered  in  the  bright  sun, — it  was 
the  perfect  ideal  of  a marriage-day ! And  in  my  heart  of 
hearts  a wondrous  wedlock  was  consummated, — an  indis- 
soluble union  with  the  fair  wild  Absinthe-witch  of  my 
dreams  ! — she  and  she  alone  should  be  part  of  my  flesh 
and  blood  from  henceforth,  I swore  ! — why,  even  the 
words  of  the  marriage-ritual  could  be  made  to  serve  our 
needs  ! “ Those  whom  God  hath  joined  let  no  man  put . 

asunder!”  God — or’Chance  ! They  are  both  one  and 
the  same  thing — to  the  absintheur  ! 

Watching  the  street  with  drowsy  unintelligent  eyes  I 
presently  saw  my  father  and  M.  Vaudron  come  out  of 
the  house  and  cross  the  road  together.  The  old  Curb’s 


WORMWOOD, . 


i8x 

head  was  bent, — he  appeared  to  walk  with  difficulty,  and 
he  was  evidently  more  than  half  supported  by  my  father’s 
stalwart  arm.  Respectable  old  fellows  both — with  warm 
hearts  and  clear  consciences  ! — wonderful ! It  seemed 
so  absurd  to  me  that  any  one  should  try  to  lead  an  un- 
corrupt life  in  such  a corrupt  world  ! What  was  the  use 
of  it?  Was  there  any  possible  end  but  death  to  all  this 
aggressive  loving-kindness  and  charity  towards  one’s 
fellow-men  ? Yet  a faint  sense  of  admiration  stirred  me, 
as  I looked  after  the  slowly  retreating  figures  of  the  two 
old  friends  ; and  a lingering  regret  just  touched  my  heart 
as  with  a pin’s  prick  to  think  that  my  father’s  indignation 
should  have  made  him  resolve  to  send  me  from  him  so 
•suddenly.  Not  only  was  I sorry  to  lose  his  always  agree- 
able and  intellectual  companionship, — I felt  instinctively 
that  when  I bade  him  farewell,  I should  also  bid  farewell 
to  the  last  link  that  held  me  to  the  rapidly  vanishing 
shadow  of  honor. 

Tired  of  the  whirling  confusion  of  my  thoughts,  I shut 
my  eyes  once  more,  and  allowed  my  senses  to  slip  into 
the  spectral  land  of  visions, — and  my  brain-wanderings 
took  me  so  far,  that  when  I started  back  to  common- 
place reality  at  last,  I was  in  total  darkness.  I had  not 
been  asleep — that  I knew  well  enough  ! — but  I had  been 
actively  dreaming, — and  the  afternoon  was  over.  Night 
had  descended  upon  me  all  unawares, — and  suddenly 
seized  with  a nervous  terror  at  the  silejnee  and  obscurity 
of  my  room,  I groped  about  for  matches,  trembling  like  a 
leaf  and  afraid  of  I knew  not  what.  Not  finding  what  I 
sought,  and  unable  to  resist  the  fantastic  horror  of  myself 
that  had  stolen  over  me,  I flung  open  the  door  wildly, 
and  to  my  intense  relief,  admitted  a flood  of  light  from 
the  gas-lamps  in  the  outer  hall.  Just  as  I did  so,  my 
father’s  voice  cried  suddenly — 

“ Gaston  1 Gaston  ! ” 

He  had  come  back  then,  I mused  hazily.  What  did  he 
want  me  for, — me,  the  “ pariah  ” of  Parisian  society,  re- 
jected because  I had  dared  to  make  a woman’s  vice 
public  ! My  mouth  was  parched  and  dry — I could  not 
answer  him  immediately. 

“ Gaston  ! Gaston  ! ” he  called  for  the  second  time,  and 
there  was  a sharp  ring  of  pain  in  his  tone. 

Without  reply,  I descended  the  stairs, — entered  the 


182 


WORM  WO  OD. 


library, — and  there,  to  my  amazement,  came  face  to  face 
with  Heloi'se  St.  Cyr  ! Pale,  impassioned,  wondrously 
beautiful  in  grief,  she  stood  beside  my  father  whose  face 
was  full  of  grave  and  pitying  sympathy, — great  tears  were 
in  her  eyes, — and  as  soon  as  she  saw  me  she  gave  me  no 
time  to  speak,  but  sprang  forward,  extending  her  hands 
appealingly. 

44  Oh.  M.  Gaston,  help  me ! ” she  cried  sobbingly. 
44  Help  me — and  I will  forgive  all  your  cruelty  to  poor 
Pauline  J only  help  me  to  find  her  ! — she  has  left  us  ! — • 
she  has  gone  i — and  we  know  not  where  1 ” 


W ORMWOOD* 


183 


XIX. 

I gazed  at  her  a moment  in  blank  silence  ; — then,  re- 
membering that  she,  even  she  was  the  same  fair  woman, 
who  had  but  lately  cursed  me, — I rallied  my  forces  and 
smiled  a. little. 

“ Gone  ! ” I echoed.  “ Bien  ! I fail  to  see  what  diffi- 
culty you  can  possibly  have  in  tracing  her,  mademoiselle  1 
She  has  only  fled  to  her  lover!  ’ 

As  I said  this  with  freezing  tranquillity,  Heloise  suddenly 
gave  way,  and  breaking  into  smothered  sobbing,  hid  her 
face  on  my  father’s  arm. 

“ Oh,  I hope,”  she  cried  piteously.  “ I hope  God  i ' 
more  merciful  than  man  ! Oh,  what  shall  I do,  what  shall 
I do  ! My  poor,  poor  Pauline  ! — alone  at  night  in  Paris! 
— such  a little,  soft,  timid  thing ! Oh,  cruel,  cruel ! She 
would  never  go  to  Silvion  Guidel,  now  he  has  become  a 
priest — never  ! — and  see — see,  Monsieur  Beauvais,  what 
she  has  written  here,” — and,  addressing  herself  to  my 
father,  she  drew  from  her  bosom  a little  crumpled  note 
and  unfolded  it.  “ I had  left  her,”  she  sobbed,  “ lying  on 
her  own  bed,  after  we  had  carried  her  upstairs  in  her 
swoon, — and  when  I came  back  after  attending  to  my 
aunt  who  is  very,  very  ill,  she  had  gone  ! Her  bridal  dress 
was  thrown  aside, — she  had  not  taken  one  of  her  jewels, — 
and  I do  not  think  she  had  any  money.  Only  a little 
black  dress  and  cloak  and  hat  were  missing  from  her 
wardrobe, — and  this  letter  I found  on  her  table.  In  it  she 
says  ” — here  Heloise  tried  to  master  her  tears,  and,  steady- 
ing her  voice,  she  read — “Try  to  forgive  me,  darling 
Heloise;  you  are  so  good  that  you  will  even  pity  those 
who  are  wicked.  Never  think  of  me  again  except  when 
you  say  your  prayers, — then  ask  God  just  once  to  be  kind 
to  your  little  Pauline.” 

My  father’s  old  eyes  brimmed  over  ; — his  heart  was 
touched,  but  not  mine  ! I sat  down  leisurely,  and  looked 
on  as  unconcernedly  as  a cynical  critic  looks  on  at  a new 
play. 

“ Poor  child — poor  child ! ” murmured  my  father 


t 

f 

X 34.  Vy'O  R A/  rP  O OJL '. 

huskily;  then  he  turned  towards  me.  “ Have  you  nothing 
to  say,  Gaston  ? — no  suggestion  to  make  ? ” 

I shrugged  my  shoulders. 

“ Absolutely  ; I am  powerless  in  the  matter/’  I said 
coldly.  “ I am  in  a very  peculiar  position  myself, — a 
position  which  neither  you  nor  Mademoiselle  St.  Cyr  seem 
at  all  to  recognize.  I am  a wronged  man, — yet  I receive 
not  the  slightest  sympathy  for  my  wrong, — all  the  compas- 
sion and  anxiety  being,  oddly  enough,  bestowed  on  the  per- 
petrators of  the  injury  done  to  me.  I confess  therefore, 
that  I am  not  particularly  interested  in  the  present  denoue- 
ment ! ” 

Heloise  looked  straight  at  me,  and  then,  suddenly  ap- 
proaching me,  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm. 

“ After  all,  did  you  never  love  Pauline  ? ” she  asked. 

At  this  question  my  blood  rose  to  fever-heat,  and  I 
spoke,  scarcely  knowing  what  I was  saying. 

“ Love  her  ! ” I cried.  “ I loved  her  with  such  a passion 
as  she  never  knew  ! I hallowed  her  with  a worship  such 
as  she  never  dreamt  of  ! She  was  everything  to  me — life, 
love,  hope,  salvation ! — and  you.  ask  me  if  I loved  her  ! 
Oh,  foolish  woman  ! you  cannot  measure  the  love  I had 
for  her  ! — such  love  that,  once  betrayed  must  and  ever  will 
turn  to  loathing  for  its  betrayer ! ” 

My  father  hooked  startled  at  this  sudden  outburst  of 
feeling  on  my  part, — but  Heloise  did  not  flinch.  Her  gray 
eyes  shone  upon  me  through  the  mist  of  tears  as  stead- 
fastly as  stars. 

“ Such  love  is  not  love  at  all ! ” she  said.  “ It  is  selfish- 
ness ; — no  more  ! The  injury  done  to  you  appears  all  par- 
amount,— you  have  no  thought,  no  pity  for  the  injury  done 
to  her.  The  world  is  still  open  to  you;  but  on  her  it  is 
shut  forever.  You  may  sin  as  she  has  sinned,  without 
even  the  plea  of  an  overwhelming  passion  to  excuse  you, — 
and  society  will  not  turn  its  back  on  you  ! But  it  will  scorn 
her  for  the  evil  it  endures  in  you  and  in  all  men  ! Such  is 
humanity’s  scant  justice  ! If  you  had  ever  loved  her  truly, 
you  would  have  forgotten  your  own  wrong  in  her  misery ; 
you  would  have  raised  her  up,  not  crushed  her  down  lower 
than  she  already  was ; you  would  have  saved  her,  not  de- 
stroyed her ! I warned  you  long  ago  that  she  was  a creat- 
ure of  impulse,  too  young  and  too  inexperienced  to  be 
certain  of  her  own  mind  in  the  perplexities  of  love  or  mar- 


WORMWOOD. 


«8S 

riage  ; but  you  paid  no  heed  to  my  warning.  And  now, 
she  is  ruined, — desolate  ! — a mere  child  cast  out  on  the 
cruel  wilderness  of  Paris  all  alone  ; — think  of  it,  Gaston 
Beauvais  ! — think  of  it ! — and  take  comfort  in  the  thought 
that  you  have  had  your  miserable  revenge  to  the  uttermost 
end  of  man’s  cowardice  ! ” 

Every  word  fell  from  her  lips  with  a quiet  decisiveness 
that  stung  me  in  spite  of  my  enforced  calm  ; but  I re- 
strained rnyself,  and  when  she  had  finished  speaking,  I 
simply  bowed  and  smiled. 

“ Your  brave  and  eloquent  words,  mademoiselle,  make 
me  regret  that  I was  so  unwise  as  to  love  your  cousin  in- 
stead of  yourself  ! It  was  a serious  mistake  ! — for  both  of 
ns,  perhaps ! ” 

She  drew  back, — the  color  flushing  proudly  to  her 
cheeks, — and  her  look  of  indignation,  surprise,  reproach, 
and  anguish  dazzled  and  confounded  me  for  an  instant. 
What  chance  arrow  had  sped  to  its  mark  now  ? 1 won- 

dered vaguely, — I had  nigh  insulted  her  by  my  remark, — 
and  yet  grief  expressed  itself  in  her  eyes  more  than  anger. 
Had  she  ever  cared  for  me? — Not  possible!  she  had  al- 
ways mistrusted  me, — and  now  she  hated  me  ! With 
.'Supreme  disdain,  she  turned  from  me  to  my  father. 

“ I must  go  home  now,  Monsieur  Beauvais  ” — she  said 
quietly  and  with  dignity — “ I have  come  here  on  a useless 
errand  I see!  Will  you  take  me  to  the  carriage  ? — it  is 
in  waiting.  My  uncle  does  not  yet  know  of  Pauline’s 
flight ; we  are  afraid  to  tell  him  ; — and  we  thought — 
my  aunt  and  I — that  perhaps  you  might  help  us  to  some 
clue ” She  hesitated,  and  nearly  broke  down  again. 

“ My  dear  girl  ” — returned  my  father,  hastily  offering 
her  his  arm  in  obedience  to  her  mute  sign — “ be  certain 
that  if  I hear  the  slightest  rumor  that  may  lead  you  on 
the  right  track,  you  shall  know  it  at  once.  I will  make 
•every  possible  private  inquiry ; — alas,  alas  ! what  an  un- 
fortunate day  it  was  for  .everybody  when  that  nephew  of 
my  poor  old  friend  Vaudron  came  to  Paris  ! Who  would 
have  thought  it ! Vaudron  is  broken-hearted;  he  would 
as  soon  have  believed  in  an  angel  turning  traitor,  as  that 
his  favorite  Silvion  would  have  been  guilty  of  such  de- 
ception and  cruelty.  But  whatever  his  grief,  I know  he 
will  assist  us  in  the  search  for  Pauline  ; that  you  may  be 
sure  of.  Try,  try  to  take  comfort  my  dear ; you  must 


WORMWOOD. 


not  give  way.  There  is  always  the  hope  that  the  poor 
child  may  be  terrified  at  her  sudden  loneliness,  and  may 
write  to  you  and  tell  you  where  she  is.” 

Thus  talking,  he  led  her  out  of  the  room, — she  passed 
me  without  acknowledging  my  presence  by  the  slightest 
gesture  of  farewell ; and  I waited,  sitting  near  the  table 
and  turning  over  the  newspapers,  till  I heard  the  carriage 
drive  away,  and  my  father’s  returning  steps  echoed  slowly 
along  the  hall.  He  entered  the  room,  sat  down,  and  was 
silent  for  many  minutes.  I felt  that  he  was  looking  at 
me  intently.  Presently  he  said  with  some  sharpness — 

“ Gaston  ! ” 

“ Sir  ? ” 

“ Are  you  satisfied  with  the  evil  you  have  done  i ” 

I smiled. 

“ Really,  mon  pere,  you  talk  as  if  I were  the  only  crim- 
inal in  the  matter  ! There  are  others ” 

“ And  they  are  punished  ! ” he  declared  passionately. 
“ Punished  more  bitterly  than  most  people  are  for  their 
misdeeds  ; and  the  heavist  punishment  has  fallen  on  the 
weakest  offender,  thanks  to  you  ! As  for  Silvion  Guidel, 
you  may  depend  upon  it,  he  is  a prey  to  the  deepest 
remorse  and  misery  ! ” 

“You  think  so?”  I queried  languidly,  without  raising 
my  eyes.  “Now  I should  fancy  he  finds  quite  sufficient 
atonement  for  his  sins  in  the  muttering  of  an  ‘ Ave'  or 
Pater-nos  ter” 

“ I tell  you  he  suffers  J”  and  my  father  struck  his 
hand  emphatically  on  the  table, — “I  have  studied  his 
nature,  and  I know  he  has  the  scholar’s  mind, — the  subtle 
and  self-tormenting  disposition  which  is  always  a curse 
to  its  owner  ! He  has  behaved  like  a coward  and  a villain, 
and  he  knows  it ! But  you, — you  also  have  behaved 
like  a coward  and  a villain,  and  you  do  not  seem  to  know 
it ! ” 

“No! — you  are  right;”  I responded  calmly.  “Ido 
not ! ” 

“ Dieu  / Have  you  no  heart  ? ” 

“None!”  and  I fixed  my  eyes  quietly  upon  him. 
“ How  should  you  expect  it  ? I gave  what  heart  I had 
to  my  betrothed  wife,  and  she  has  killed  it.  It  is  stone 
dead  ! I forget  that  it  ever  existed  ! Pray  do  not  let  us 
talk  any  more  of  the  matter,  mon  pere ; I am  perfectly 


WORMWOOD. 


i8y 

content  to  leave  Paris  for  a time  as  you  suggest,— Indeed 
I think  the  plan  an  admirable  one.  It  will  certainly  be 
best  that  I should  remove  my  presence  from  you,  and 
from  all  to  whom  I have  suddenly  become  obnoxious. 
But,  before  we  part,  I will  ask  you  to  remember,  first, — 
that  I have  never  wilfully,  through  all  my  life,  given  you 
a moment’s  cause  for  pain  or  reproach, — and  secondly, 
that  in  this  rupture  of  a marriage  which  was  to  have  been 
the  completion  of  life’s  happiness  for  me,  I am  guiltless 
of  anything  save  a desire  to  wreak  just  punishment  on 
the  betrayers  of  my  honor.  Thirdly,  that  the  only  offence 
you  can  charge  against  me  is,  a want  of  sympathy  with  a 
dishonored  woman,  who  has  not  only  confessed,  but 
almost  glories  in  her  dishonor  ! ” 

With  that  I saluted  him  profoundly  and  left  him  to  his 
own  reflections.  I had  shown  no  heat — I had  displayed 
no  temper — I had  stated  my  case  with  the  coolest 
logic — the  logic  of  an  absintheur ! But  once  up  again  in 
the  solitude  of  my  own  room  with  the  door  shut  fast,  I 
laughed  aloud  and  bitterly  at  the  persistent  and  ridic- 
ulous wrong-sidedness  with  which  everybody  insisted 
on  viewing  the  whole  affair.  All  the  pity  was  for 
Pauline  ! and  yet  people  would  go  on  prating  about 
“ morality  ! ” Judged  strictly,  Pauline  de  Charmilles  had 
not  a shadow  of  defence  on  her  side ; but  because  she 
was  young,  beautiful,  and  a woman,  her  fate  excited 
sympathy.  Had  she  been  ugly  and  misshapen,  she 
might  have  been  scourged  and  driven  from  pillar  to 
post  till  she  died  of  sheer  exhaustion  for  aught  any  one 
would  have  cared ! We  are  most  of  us  ruled  by  the  flesh 
and  the  devil ; and  very  few  of  us  have  any  real  con- 
ception of  justice. 

But  do  not  imagine,  good  friends,  that  I,  a confirmed 
drinker  of  absinthe,  want  to  be  moral ! Not  I ! I 
should  win  scanty  attenton  from  some  of  you,  if  I did  ! 
T only  observe  to  you,  en  passant,  that,  considering  how 
the  barriers  between  vice  and  virtue  are  being  fast 
broken  down  in  all  great  “ civilized  ” countries  ; how, 
even  in  eminently  virtuous  and  respectable  “ Albion  ” — 
women  of  known  disreputable  character  are  allowed  to 
enter  and  mix  with  the  highest  aristocratic  circles, — and 
how  it  will  most  probably  soon  be  necessary  to  establish 
in  church-going  London  and  under  the  very  nose  of  good 


*88 


WORMWOOD . 


Mrs.  Grundy,  a recognized  demi-monde  after  the  fashion 
of  my  dear  Paris, — in  the  face  of  all  these  facts,  I say, 
surely  it  is  time  to  leave  off  sermonizing  about  dull 
household  virtues  ! — an  age  of  Realism  and  Zola  has  no 
time  for  them  ! But  whatever  you  may  think  of  my 
opinions, — opinions  born  of  blessed  absinthe  : — sit  in 
judgment  on  yourselves,  my  readers,  before  you  venture 
to  judge  met  Believe  me,  I used,  like  many  other  young 
men,  to  have  my  ideals  of  greatness  and  goodness  ; the 
beautiful,  the  mystical,  the  impersonal  and  sublime  had 
attractions  for  my  spirit;  but  the  wise  “ green  fairy  ” has 
cured  me  of  this  unworldly  foolishness.  Formerly,  I 
loved  to  read  noble  poetry  ; I could  lose  myself  in  in- 
ward communion  with  the  divine  spirit  of  Plato  and 
other  thinkers  grand  and  true  as  he, — but  now ! now,  I 
grin  in  company  with  the  “ educated  ” masses  over  the 
indecent  wit  of  the  cheap  Paris  press, — now,  like  un 
vrai  absintheur  I enjoy  a sneer  at  virtue, — now,  like 
many  of  my  class  who  wish  to  “ go  with  the  time,”  I 
fling  a stone  or  a handful  of  mud  at  any  one  presuming 
to  live  a cleaner  and  greater  life  than  his  fellows.  I anj 
one  of  your  “ newer  ” generation,  you  poor  old  world  ! — - 
the  generation  under  which  you  groan  as  you  roll 
silently  on  in  your  fate-appointed  orbit ; the  generation 
of  brute-selfishness,  littleness,  and  godlessness,— the 
generation  of  the  finite  Ego  opposed  to  infinite  Eter- 
nities ! I please  myself  in  the  way  I live,  I am  an- 
swerable to  none  other  ! And  you,  dear  reader,  whose 
languid  eyes  rest  carelessly  on  this  printed  page, — entre 
nous  soit  die! — do  not  you  follow  the  same  wise  rule  ? Is 
not  your  every  thought,  idea,  and  plan,  however  much  it 
it  may  at  first  seem  for  the  benefit  of  others,  really  for 
your  own  ultimate  interest  and  good  ? Of  course ! 
Excellent ! Let  us  then  metaphorically  shake  hands 
upon  our  declared  brotherhood,— for  though  you  may  be, 
and  no  doubt  are,  highly  respectable,  while  I am  all 
together  disreputable, — though  you  may  be  everything 
that  society  approves,  while  I am  an  absinthe-drinking 
outcast  from  polite  life,  a skulking  pariah  of  the  slums 
and  back  streets  of  Paris,  we  are  both  at  one — yes^  my 
dear  friend,  I assure  you, — entirely  at  one  1 — in 
worship  of  Self  l 


WORMWOOD. 


i8£ 


XX. 

Next  day  I remembered  I had  a visit  to  make.  The 
Comte  de  Charmilles  expected  me  to  call  upon  him  be- 
fore noon.  I meant  to  go,  of  course  ; I had  no  wish  to 
disappoint  him  ! I was  prepared  for  a stormy  scene  with 
him  ; I could  already  picture  the  haughty  old  aristocrat’s 
wounded  pride  and  indignation  at  the  dishonor  brought 
on  his  name, — but  I could  not  quite  imagine  what  he 
would  be  likely  to  say.  Certes,  he  could  not  excuse  his 
daughter  or  her  partner  in  iniquity  ; he  might  pour  out 
his  wrath  upon  me  for  making  the  affair  public  to  all  his 
friends  and  acquaintance,  but  that  would  be  the  utmost 
he  could  do.  I determined  to  hear  him  out  with  the 
utmost  patience  and  courtesy, — my  quarrel  was  not  with 
him, — he  had  never  given  me  offence,  save  by  his  stupid 
Royalist  tendencies  and  bigoted  Catholicism, — and  it  was 
quite  enough  for  me,  a nineteenth  century  Republican,  to 
have  lowered  his  pride  and  broken  it, — I wanted  nothing 
more  so  far  as  he  was  concerned  ! Before  starting  on  my 
ceremonious  errand,  I packed  a few  clothes  and  other 
necessaries  in  my  portmanteau  ready  for  immediate  de- 
parture from  home,  and  this  done,  I went  in  search  of  my 
father.  He  was  just  preparing  to  leave  the  house  for  his 
usual  duties  at  the  Bank,  and  he  looked  fagged  and 
wearied.  He  lifted  his  eyes  and  regarded  me  steadily  as 
I approached  him — his  lips  quivered,  and,  suddenly  laying 
his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  he  said — 

“ Gaston,  it  goes  to  my  old  heart  to  part  with  you  ! — * 
for  I love  you  ! But  something  has  embittered  and 
crossed  your  once  sweet  and  generous  nature  ; and  though 
I have  thought  about  it  anxiously  all  night,  I have  still 
come  to  the  same  conclusion, — namely,  that  it  will  be 
best  for  us  both  that  we  should  separate  for  a time,  espe- 
cially under  tfie  unhappy  circumstances  that  have  just 
taken  place.  The  whole  position  is  too  painful  for  every- 
body concerned  ! And  I am  quite  ready  to  admit  that  the 
suffering  you  have  personally  undergone  has  been,  and  is, 
of  a nature  to  chafe  and  exasperate  your  feelings.  Changer 
of  scene  and  different  surroundings  will  do  much  for  you. 


WORMWOOD. 


2$  $ 

won  garfon, — and  this  miserable  esclandre  will  possibly 
d)A  out  during  your  absence.  Choose  your  own  time  for 

g-i^g 5 

‘4 1 have  chosen  it,” — I interrupted  him  quietly — I 
shall  leave  you  to-day.” 

An  expression  of  sharp  pain  contracted  his  fine  old 
features  for  a moment, — then  apparently  rallying  his  self- 
possession,  he  returned — 

“ Sot'll  It  is  perhaps  best!-  You  will  find  a ncte 
from  me  in  your  desk  in  the  library  ; I have  thought  it 
Wisest  to  give  you  at  once  a round  sum  sufficient  for  pres- 
ent needs.  Your  share  in  the  Bank  as  my  partner  natu- 
rally continues, — and  shall  be  religiously  set  aside  for  your 
use  on  your  return.  I do  not  know  whether  you  have  any 
idea  of  a destination, — I should  suggest  your  visiting 
England  for  a time.” 

I smiled. 

“ Thanks  ! I am  too  truly  French  in  my  sympathies 
to  care  for  the  British  climate.  No  ! — if,  like  a new  Cain, 
I am  to  be  a vagabond  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  I will 
wander  as  far  as  my  fancy  takes  me ; Africa,  par  example 
presents  boundless  forests,  where,  if  one  chose,  one  could 
almost  lose  one’s  very  identity  ! ” 

My  father’s  eyes  flashed  a keen  and  sorrowful  reproach 
into  mine. 

“ Mon  fils , why  speak  so  bitterly  ? Is  it  necessary  to 
add  an  extra  pang  to  my  grief  ? ” 

A sudden  impulse  moved  me  to  softer  emotion, — aking 
his  hand  I kissed  it  respectfully. 

“ Mon  pere , I regret  beyond  all  words  that  I am  un- 
happily the  cause  of  any  distress  to  you  ! We  part ; — and 
it  is  no  doubt  advisable,  as  you  say,  that  we  should  do  so, 
— for  a time  ; but  in  bidding  you  farewell  I will  ask  you 
to  think  of  me  at  my  best, — and  to  believe  that  there  is 
no  man  in  all  the  world  whom  I admire  and  honor  more 
than  yourself ! Sentiment  between  men  is  ridiculous  I 

know,  but ” I kissed  his  hand  once  more,  and  I felt 

his  fingers  tremble  as  they  clung  for  a moment  to  mine. 

“ God  bless  thee,  Gaston  ! ” he  murmured.  “ And, 
stay  ! — let  me  have  time  to  think  again  ! Do  not  leave 
Paris  yet — wait  till  to-morrow  ! ” 

I made  a half  sign  of  assent — but  uttered  no  promise  ; 
and  watched  him.  with  a curious  forsaken  feeling,  as  with 


WORMWOOD. 


igt 


a kindly  yet  wistful  last  look  at  me,  he  left  the  house  and 
walked  rapidly  along  on  his  usual  way  to  business.  Should 
I ever  dwell  with  him  again  in  the  old  frank  familiarity 
of  intercourse  that  had  made  us  more  like  comrades  that 
father  and  son  ? I doubted  it ! My  life  was  changed,— 
my  road  lay  dovm  a dark  side-turning ; his  continued  fair 
and  open,  with  the  full  sunshine  of  honor  lighting  it  to  the 
end ! 

Entering  the  library,  I looked  in  my  desk  for  the  packet 
my  father  had  mentioned,  and  found  it, — a bulky  envelope 
containing  French  notes  to  the  amount  of  wffiat  would  be 
about  five  hundred  pounds  in  English  money.  I took 
possession  of  these, — and  then  wrote  a note  to  my  father, 
thanking  him  for  his  generosity,  and  bidding  him  farewell, 
while,  to  satisfy  him  as  to  my  destination,  I added  that  it 
was  my  immediate  intention  to  visit  Italy.  A lie  of  course  1 
— I had  no  such  intention  ; 1 never  meant  to  leave  Paris, 
but  of  this  hereafter.  I then  finished  my  packing  and 
other  preparations,  and  went  out  of  the  dear  old  house 
at  Neuilly  with  scarce  a regret, — not  realizing,  as  I 
afterwards  realized,  that  I should  never,  never  enter  it 
again  ! 

Hailing  a passing  carriage  I bade  the  driver  take  me 
to  the  Gave  de  T Est.  Our  man-servant  Dunois,  who  put 
my  portmanteau  into  the  vehicle  and  watched  my  depart- 
ure more  or  less  curiously,  heard  me  give  this  order, 
which  was  precisely  what  I wanted.  I knew  he  would 
repeat  it  to  my  father,  who  by  this  means  would  receive 
the  impression  that  I had  carried  out  my  written  inten- 
tion, and  departed  for  Italy  by  the  Lucerne  and  Chiasso 
route  to  Milan.  Arrived  at  the  Gave,  I put  my  portman- 
teau in  charge  of  the  official  to  whom  such  baggage  is 
consigned  for  safekeeping — and  then  I leisurely  pro- 
ceeded to  retrace  my  route  on  foot,  till  I reached  the 
residence  of  the  Comte  de  Charmilles.  The  very  outside 
of  the  great  house  looked  dreary,  some  of  the  blinds 
were  down, — there  was  a deserted  melancholy  aspect 
about  it  that  was  doubly  striking  in  comparison  with  the 
glitter  and  brilliancy  that  had  surrounded  it  on  the  pre- 
vious day.  The  maid  who  opened  the  door  to  me  looked 
scared  and  miserable  as  though  she  had  been  up  all 
night, — and,  murmuring  under  her  breath  and  with 
-averted  eyes  that  her  master  had  been  expecting  me  for 


WORMWOOD, 


19: 

some  time,  she  showed  me  into  the  Count’s  private  study 
and  announced  me  by  name.  The  Count  himself  was 
sitting  in  his  arm-chair,  his  back  turned  towards  me, — his 
figure  rigidly  erect, — and  he  gave  no  sign  of  having  heard 
my  entrance. 

The  servant  departed  noiselessly,  closing  the  door  be- 
hind her, — and  I stood  irresolute,  waiting  for  him  to 
speak.  But  he  uttered  not  a word.  A, 11  at  once  my  eyes 
lighted  on  a case  of  pistols  open  on  the  table, — from  the 
position  and  appearance  of  the  weapons,  I saw  they  were 
loaded  and  ready  for  use.  The  situation  flashed  upon 
me  in  an  instant,  and  I smiled  with  some  contempt  as  I 
realized  it.  This  foolish  old  man — this  withering  stump 
of  ancient  French  chivalry, — had  actually  resolved  to 
fight  out  the  question  of  his  daughter’s  honor  with  me, 
f ace  to  face  ! Was  ever  such  a mad  scheme ! What  a 
Don  Quixote  of  a father  to  be  sure  !>  If  he  had  taken  up 
arms  for  a stage  mistress  now, — if  he  had  risen  in  eager 
defence  of  some  coarse  painted  dancing  woman,  whose 
nearly  nude  body  was  on  view  to  the  public  for  so  many 
francs,  per  night,  one  would  not  have  blamed  him,  or 
thought  him  ridiculous, — no,  not  in  Paris ! But  to  think 
of  fighting  a duel  for  merely  a daughter's  reputation  ! — 
Dieu  ! it  was  a freak  worthy  of  laughter  ! Yet  there  was 
a touch  of  the  romantic  and  pathetic  about  it  that  moved 
me  in  spite  of  myself — though  of  course  I determined  to 
refuse  his  challenge.  I did  not  want  to  shed  the  blood 
of  that  old  white' haired  man  ! But  suppose  he  still 
persisted  ? Well,  then  I must  defend  myself,  and  if  I 
killed  him,  it  would  be  unfortunate,  but  it  could  not  be 
helped.  The  idea  of  his  dispatching  vie  never  entered 
my  head.  There  was  something  in  me , or  so  I imagined, 
that  could  not  be  killed  ! — not  yet ! 

Meanwhile  the  subject  of  my  musings  remained  im- 
movably silent, — and  I began  rather  to  wonder  at  such 
Obstinate  taciturnity.  His  indomitable  pride  had  met 
with  a terrific  fall,  I reflected  ! — probably  he  found  it 
difficult  to  begin  the  conversation.  I advanced  a little. 

“ M.  de  Charmilles  ! You  bade  me  come  to  you,  and 
I am  here  ! ” 

He  made  no  answer.  His  left  hand,  thin  and  wrinkled, 
rested  on  the  carved  oak  arm  of  the  chair,  and  I thought 
I saw  it  tremble  ever  so  slightly.  Was  his  rage  so  great 


WORMWOOD.  193 

that  it  had  rendered  him  absolutely  speechless  ? I moved 
a few  steps  nearer. 

“ M.  de  Charm illes ! ” I repeated,  raising  my  voice  a 
little — “ I am  here — Gaston  Beauvais.  Have  you  any- 
thing to  say  to  me  ? ” 

No  answer  ! A vague  awe  seized  me,  and  instinctively 
hushing  my  footsteps,  I approached  and  ventured  to 
touch  the  fingers  that  were  lightly  closed  round  the  arm 
of  the  chair, — they  were  warm,  but  they  #lid  not  move, — 
only  the  diamond  signet  on  the  third  finger  glittered 
coldly  like  a wintry  star. 

“ M.  de  Charmilles  ! ” I said  loudly  once  more ; then, 
mastering  the  curious  sensation  of  terror  that  held  me 
momentarily  inert  and  uncertain  what  to  do,  I went  res- 
olutely  forward  and  round,  so  that  I could  look  him  full 
in  the  face.  As  I did  so  I recoiled  with  an  involuntary 
exclamation ; the  old  man’s  features  were  rigid  and  blood- 
less,— the  eyes  were  wide  open,  fixed  and  glassy,  though 
they  appeared  to  stare  at  me  with  an  expression  of  calm 
and  freezing  disdain, — the  lips  were  parted  in  a stern 
smile, — and  the  fine  white  hair  was  slightly  roughened 
about  the  forehead  as  though  a hand  had  been  lately 
pressed  there  to  still  some  throbbing  ache.  A frozen 
figure  of  old-world  dignity  he  sate,  surveying  me,  or  so  it 
seemed,  in  speechless  but  majestic  scorn  ; while  I,  for 
one  amazed,  breathless  moment  stood  confronting  him, 
overpowered  by  the  cold  solemnity  and  grandeur  of  his 
aspect.  Then — all  suddenly — the  set  jaw  dropped  ; the 
ghastly  look  of  Death  darkened  the  erstwhile  tranquil 
countenance  ; and  myawe  gave  way  to  the  wildest  nerv- 
ous horror.  Springing  to  the  bell  I rang  it  violently 
and  incessantly ; the  servants  flocked  in,  and  in  a few 
seconds  the  room  was  a scene  of  confusion  and  lamenta- 
tion. As  in  a dream  I saw  the  Comtesse  de  Charmilles 
feebly  totter  in  and  distractedly  fall  onjaer  knees  by  her 
husband’s  passive  form;  I saw  Heloise  busying  herself 
in  chafing  her  uncle’s  yet  warm  hands — I heard  the 
sound  of  convulsive  sobbing  ; — and  then  I became  dimly 
aware  of  a physician’s  presence,  and  of  the  sudden  hush 
of  suspense  following  his  arrival.  A brief  examination 
sufficed; — the  words  “ II  est  mort  ! ” though  uttered  in 
the  lowest  whisper,  reached  the  ears  of  the  desolate 
Countess  who,  with  a long  shuddering  wail  of  agony, 
x3 


WORMWOOD. 


*94 

sank  senseless  at  the  dead  man’s  feet.  It  was  all  over ! — 
some  little  vessel  in  the  heart  had  snapt, — some  little 
subtle  chord  in  the  brain  had  given  way  under  the  pres- 
sure of  strong  indignation,  grief,  and  excitement, — and 
the  proud  old  aristocrat  had  gone  to  that  equalizing  dust 
where  there  is  neither  pride  nor  shame  ! He  was  dead, 
— and  some/  narrow-minded  fools  may  consider,  if  they 
like,  that  I killed  him.  But  how  ? What  crime  had  / 
committed?  None!  I had  merely  made  a stand  for 
moral  law  in  social  life ! My  career  was  stainless,  save 
for  the  green  trail  of  the  absinthe-slime  which  no  one 
saw.  And  Society  never  blames  vice  that  does  not 
publicly  offend.  Pauline  was  the  sinner, — little,  child- 
like, blue-eyed  Pauline  ! — and  I took  a sort  of  grim  and 
awful  pleasure  in  regarding  her  as  a parricide  ! Why  be- 
cause she  had  a sweet  face,  a slim  form  and  a bright 
smile,  should  she  escape  from  the  results  of  her  own 
treachery  and  crime  ? I could  not  see  it  then, — and  I 
cannot  see  it  even  now  ! No  one  can  make  me  respon- 
sible for  the  old  Count’s  death, — no  one  I say ! — though  at 
times,  his  white,  still,  majestic  face  confronts  me  in  the 
darkness  with  a speechless  reproach  and  undying  chal- 
lenge. But  I know  it  is  only  a phantasm  ; and  I quickly 
take  refuge  in  the  truth  as  declared  by  the  fashionable 
world  of  Paris  when  his  death  became  generally  known, 
— namely,  that  his  daughter’s  dishonor  (not  my  proc- 
lamation of  it,  observe  !)  had  broken  his  heart ; — and 
that  even  so,  broken-hearted  for  her  sake,  he  died. 


WORMWOOD. 


l95 


XXI. 

From  this  period  I may  begin  to  date  my  iapid  down- 
ward career, — a career  that  however  disreputable  and 
strange  it  may  seem  to  those  who  elect  to  be  virtuous 
and  self-controlled,  has  brought  to  me,  personally,  the 
wildest  and  most  unpurchasable  varieties  of  pleasure. 
Pleasure,  such  as  a forest-savage  may  know  when  the 
absolute  freedom  of  air,  woodland,  and  water,  is  his, — 
when  no  laws  bind  him, — and  when  he  has  no  one  to 
whom  he  is  bound  to  account  for  his  actions.  I hate 
your  smug,  hypocritical  civilization,  good  world  ! — I 
would  rather  be  what  I am,  than  play  the  double  part 
your  rules  of  life  enjoin  ! I am  an  alien  from  all  re- 
spectability ; what  then  ? Respectability  is  generally 
dull ! And  I am  never  dull ; my  Absinthe-witch  takes 
care  of  that ! Her  kaleidoscope  ©f  vision  is  exhaustless, 
— and  though  of  late  she  has  shown  me  the  same  sights 
somewhat  too  often,  I am  perchance,  the  most  to  blame 
for  this, — the  tenacity  of  my  own  brain  holding  fast  to 
certain  images  that  it  would  be  best  to  forget.  This  is 
the  fault  of  my  constitution, — a tendency  to  remember, 
— I cannot  forget,  if  I would,  and  whereas  on  some 
temperaments  the  emerald  nectar  bestows  oblivion,  on 
mine  it  sharpens  and  inrensifies  memory.  Nevertheless 
the  feverish  excitation  of  pleasure  never  dies  out,  and 
my  disposition  is  such  that  I am  able  to  brood  on  things 
that  would  appal  most  men  with  the  keenest  and  most 
appreciative  delight ! It  is  not  perhaps  agreeable,  is  it, 
to  peaceable  and  right-minded  people  to  dwell  gloating 
on  the  harrowing  details  of  a murder,  for  instance  ? To 
me,  however,  it  is  not  only  agreeable,  but  absolutely 
fascinating, — and  I have  merely  to  shut  my  eyes  to  see 
— what  ? Water  glimmering  in  the  moonlight, — trees 
waving  in  the  wind — and  a face  upturned  to  the  quiet 
skies  drifting  steadily  and  helplessly  down  stream, — but, 
stop  ! I must  not  brood  too  tenderly  upon  this  picture 
yet ; — but  it  is  difficult  to  me  sometimes  to  keep  my 
thoughts  in  sequence.  No  absintheur  can  be  always 


WORMWOOD. 


*96 

coherent ; it  is  too  much  to  expect  of  the  green  fairy’s 
votaries ! 

Well  ! the  Comte  cle  Charmilles  was  dead, — and  a 
whole  fortnight  had  elapsed  since  his  funeral  had  wound 
its  solemn  black  length  through  the  streets  of  Paris  to 
Pkre-la-Chaise,  where  the  family  vault  had  opened  its 
stone  jaws  to  receive  the  mortal  remains  of  him  who 
was  the  last  male  heir  of  his  race.  His  great  house  was 
shut  up  as  a house  of  mourning ; the  widowed  Comtesse 
and  her  niece  Heloise  dwelt  there  together,  so  I learned, 
in  melancholy  solitude,  denying  themselves  to  all  vis- 
itors. Under  any  other  circumstances  they  would  most 
probably  have  left  the  city,  and  sought  in  change  of  scene 
a relaxaticm  from  grief,  but  I knew  why  they  remained 
immured  in  their  desolate  town  mansion, — simply  in  the 
hope  that  now,  having  nothing  to  fear  from  the  wrath  of 
her  father,  the  lost  Pauline  might  return  to  her  home. 

And  I — I also  was  still  in  Paris.  As  I said  before, 
I had  never  for  a moment  intended  to  leave  it.  I had 
formed  certain  plans  of  my  own  respecting  the  wild  new 
mode  of  life  I purposed  to  follow, — and  these  plans  I 
was  able  to  carry  out  with  entire  success.  I took  a small 
apartment  in  an  obscure  hotel  under  an  assumed  name, 
and  in  my  daily  and  nightly  rambles,  I carefully  kept  to 
the  back  streets,  partly  to  avoid  a chance  meeting  with 
any  of  my  acquaintance,  and  partly  under  the  impression 
that  in  one  of  these  poorer  quarters  of  Paris  I should 
find  Pauline.  I had  no  idea  what  I should  do  if  I really 
did  happen  to  discover  her  whereabouts, — part  of  the 
quality  of  one  in  my  condition  of  absinthism , is  that  he 
cannot  absolutely  decide  anything  too  long  beforehand. 
When  the  time  for  decision  comes,  he  acts  as  suddenly 
as  a wild  beast  springs, — on  impulse — needless  to  add 
that  the  impulse  is  always  more  or  less  evil. 

A fortnight  is  not  a long  time  is  it  ? — save  to  children 
and  parted  lovers, — yet  it  had  sufficed  me  to  make  deadly 
progress  in  my  self-chosen  method  of  enjoying  existence  ; 
so  much  so,  in  fact,  that  nothing  in  the  world  seemed  to 
me  of  real  importance  provided  absinthe  never  failed.  I 
think,  at  this  particular  juncture,  that  if  any  one  possess^ 
ing  the  power  to  deny  me  the  full  complement  of  the 
nectar  which  was  now  as  necessary  to  me  as  the  blood  in 
my  veins,  had  denied  it,  I should  have  killed  him  on  the 


WORMWOOD. 


I97 


spot  without  a moment’s  compunction ! But  fortunately, 
absinthe  is  obtainable  everywhere  in  Paris,— it  is  not  a 
costly  luxury  either, — and  I soon  became  familiar  with 
thef  different  haunts  where  the  most  potent  forms  of  it 
were  obtainable.  It  must  of  course  be  understood  by  the 
inquisitive  reader,  that  the  effects  of  this  divine  cordial 
are  different  on  different  temperaments.  On  the  densely 
stupid  brain  it  can  only  render  the  stupefaction  more 
complete.  The  habituated  Chinese  opium-eater,  for 
example,  gets  no  dreams  out  of  his  drug,  his  own  mind 
being  too  slow  and  sluggish  for  the  creation  of  any  sort  of 
vision.  But,  put  a quick-witted  Frenchman  or  Italian  in 
an  Oriental  opium-den,  and  the  poison-fumes  will  invoke 
for  him  a crowd  of  phantom  images,  horrible  or  beautiful, 
according  to  the  tendency  of  his  thoughts.  So  with 
absinthe.  Only  that  absinthe  differs  from  opium  in  this 
respect, — namely  that  it  has  not  only  one  but  three  dis- 
tinct gradations  of  action.  Imagine,  for  the  sake  of  meta- 
phoi,  the  brain  to  be  a musical  instrument,  well  strung 
and  in  perfect  tune, — absinthe  first  deadens  the  vibrating 
power;  then,  one  by  one,  reverses  the  harmonies;  and 
finally,  completely  alters  the  very  nature  of  the  sounds. 
Music  can  still  be  drawn  from  it, — but  it  is  a different 
music  to  what  it  erstwhile  was  capable  of.  On  the  active 
brain,  its  effect  is  to  quicken  the  activity  to  feverishness, 
while  hurling  it  through  new  and  extraordinary  channels 
of  thought ; on  a slow  brain  it  quenches  whatever  feeble 
glimmer  of  intelligence  previously  existed  there,  the  result 
in  such  a caee,  being  frequently  cureless  idiotcy.  But 
what  does  this  matter  ? Its  charm  is  irresistible  for  both 
wit  and  fool ; and  in  this  age,  when  to  follow  our  own 
immediate  desires  is  the  only  accepted  gospel, — the  gos- 
pel of  Paris  at  least,  if  of  no  other  city,  absinthe  is  to 
many,  as  to  me,  the  chief  necessity  of  life.  Because, 
however  uncertain  in  its  other  phases  it  may  prove,  it  can 
be  absolutely  relied  upon  to  kill  Conscience  ! 

I lived  on  from  day  to  day  in  my  hidden  retirement, 
perfectly  contented  with  my  lot,  and  doing  nothing  what- 
ever but  dreamily  wander  about  the  byeways  of  the  city, 
looking  for  Pauline.  Yet  I could  not  have  told  any  one 
7 vhy  I looked  for  her.  I did  not  want  her.  Nevertheless, 
reason  or  no  reason,  the  impulse  of  search  continued; 
and  every  woman  of  youthful  and  shrinking  appearance  I 


WORMWOOD. 


198 

met,  came  in  for  my  close  and  eager  scrutiny.  Once  or 
twice  in  my  lonely  walks  I saw  Heloise  St.  Cyr,  robed  in 
deepest  black  and  closely  veiled,  and  I guessed  by  the 
character  of  the  places  in  which  I encountered  her,  that 
she  also  was  seeking  for  the  lost  one.  She  never  saw  me, 
— for  I always  slunk  away  in  swift  avoidance  of  any  pos- 
sible glance  of  recognition  from  her  beautiful  disdainful 
eyes.  And,  as  I have  stated,  a fortnight  had  elapsed, — 
when,  one  evening,  an  irresistible  yearning  came  over  me 
to  take  a stroll  in  the  direction  of  Neuilly — to  pass  the  old 
house  of  my  other  days, — to  look  up  at  the  windows  on 
the  chance  of  seeing  merely  the  shadow  of  my  father’s 
figure  silhouetted  by  the  lamp-light  on  the  drawn  blind. 
He  thought  me  far  away  by  this  time,  and  was  no  doubt 
surprised  and  irritated  at  receiving  no  letters  from  me.  I 
wondered  if  he  were  solitary  ? — if  he  regretted  the  loss  of 
my  companionship  ? Yielding  to  my  fancy,  I started  on 
the  well-known  route  which  I had  up  till  now  carefully 
avoided.  I stopped  now  and  then  to  reinvigorate  my 
forces  with  the  absinthe-fire  that  I fully  believed  was  the 
only  thing  that  kept  me  alive,  but  once  I had  passed  all 
the  cafes  where  the  best  form  of  that  elixir  was  obtain- 
able, I continued  my  road  steadily  and  without  interrup- 
tion along  the  Champs  Elysees. 

It  was  a fine  night ; the  trees  were  in  full  foliage  ; a 
few  stray  birds  twittered  sleepily  among  the  branches, 
and  under  the  light  of  the  soft  moon,  many  an  amorous 
couple  wandered  to  and  fro,  entranced  in  each  other’s 
society,  and  telling  each  other  the  same  old  lies  of  love 
and  perpetual  constancy  that  all  wise  men  laugh  at.  I 
walked  slowly, : — following,  as  I always  followed,  the  flicker- 
ing rays  of  green  that  trembled  on  my  path, — to-night  they 
took  the  shape  of  thin  arrows  that  pointed  forward, — ever 
forward  and  straight  on  ! Neuilly  at  last ! — and  a few  min- 
utes more  brought  me  to  the  house  I had  so  lately  known  as 
u home.”  All  the  windows  were  empty  of  light  save  that 
of  the  library, — and  here  the  blind  was  only  half  down,  so 
that  I was  able  to  see  my  father  through  it,  busily  writing. 
His  table  was  strewn  with  papers  ; he  looked  fatigued 
and  careworn, — and  for  one  brief  second  my  heart  smote 
me.  Troublesome  conscience  was  not  quite  dead ; yon- 
der old  man’s  fine,  placid  yet  weary  face  roused  in  me  a 
struggling  passion  of  regret  and  remorse.  It  was  a mere 


WORMWOOD. 


1 99 


flash  of  pain  ! — it  soon  passed, — I pressed  my  hand 
’ heavily  over  my  eyes  to  still  their  burning  ache, — and 
turning  from  the  house,  I looked  down  on  the  dark  as- 
phalte  pavement  at  my  feet.  There  were  those  little 
flickering  green  shafts  of  light  pointing  ahead  as  before  ! 
— and,  careless  as  to  where  I went  I continued  to  follow 
in  their  spectral  lead.  So  I walked  on  and  on ; sur- 
rounded as  I went  by  strange  sights  and  sounds  to  which 
I had  now  grown  almost  accustomed,  and  which,  even  at 
their  worst  brought  me  much  weird  and  fantastic  delight. 
To  a great  extent,  my  sensations,  though  purely  imagi- 
nary, seemed  real ; nothing  could  have  been  more  substan- 
tial in  appearance  than  the  faces  and  forms  that  hovered 
about  me, — it  was  only  when  I strove  to  touch  them  that 
things  vanished.  But  the  odd  part  of  it  was  that  I could 
feel  them  touching  me ; kisses  were  pressed  on  my  lips, — 
soft  arms  embraced  me, — the  very  breath  of  these  phan- 
toms seemed  at  times  to  lift  and  fan  my  hair.  And  more 
real  than  the  faces  -and  forms  were  the  voices  I heard  ; 
— these  never  left  me  alone, — they  sang,  they  talked,  they 
whispered,  of  things  strange  and  terrible, — things  that 
might  have  turned  the  blood  cold  in  the  veins  of  an  honest 
man  : — only  that  I was  no  longer  honest.  I knew  that ! 
I was  neither  hon,est  to  myself,  nor  my  feelings  towards 
the  world, — but  this  did  not  appear  to  me  at  all  a matter  for 
compunction.  Because,  after  all,  there  was  no  one  to  care 
particularly  what  my  principles  were, — no  one  except  my 
father, — and  he  was  an  old  man, — his  term  of  life  would 
soon  be  ended.  Self-respect  is  the  root  of  honor  ; and 
with  me  self-respect  was  dead  ahd  buried  ! I had  taken 
to  self-indulgence  instead.  Most  men  do,  if  truth  were 
told,  though  their  favorite  vice  may  not  be  the  love  of 
absinthe.  But  that  nearly  every  man  has  some  evil  propen- 
sity to  which  he  secretly  panders, — this  is  a fact  of  which 
we  may  be  perfectly  sure  ! 

For  my  part,  I was  quite  content  to  listen  to  the 
ghastly  prattle  of  the  suggestive  air-voices  about  me ; 
and  my  brain  was  wondrously  quick  to  conjure  up  the 
scenes  they  told  me  of, — scenes  in  graves,  where  the 
pain-tranced  man,  thought  to  be  dead  but  living,  is 
buried  in  the  haste  ordained  by  the  iniquitous  French 
law,  and  struggles  choking  in  his  coffin,  while  the  sex- 
ton, fully  aware  of,  yet  terrified  by  his  moans,  calmly 


200 


WORMWOOD. 


throws  the  earth  over  him  all  the  same  and  levels  it 
down  ; * — of  lazar-houses  and  dissecting-rooms,  and  all 
the  realistic  wonders  of  obscurity  and  crime,  on  which 
the  “ cultured  ” Paris  public  dwells  with  rapt  and  ec- 
static interest, — such  beauteous  things  as  these  were 
as  vivid  and  sweet  to  me  now  as  they  had  once  been 
repulsive.  And  so  I strolled  along  under  the  moon- 
silvered  sky,  heedless  of  distance,  careless  of  time,  till 
the  more  brilliant  clustering  lights  of  Paris  were  left 
behind  me,  and  I woke  up  with  a start  from  my  sinis- 
ter rnusings,  to  find  myself  in  the  quiet  little  suburb  of 
Suresnes. 

Do  you  know  Suresnes  ? On  a fine  summer’s  after- 
noon it  is  worth  while  to  journey  thither,  and  walk 
over  the  bridge,  stopping  half-way  across  to  look  i:p 
and  down  at  the  quietly  flowing  river,  that  on  the 
right-hand  parts  with  a broad  shining  ribbon-breadth 
the  Bois,  and  the  opposite  undulating  hills.  Down 
almost  to  the  brink  of  the  water  slope  a few  exquisite 
lawns  and  gardens  belonging  to  those  white  villas  one 
sees  glimmering  among  the  rich  foliage  of  the  trees  ; 
and  round  by  these  in  a semicircle  sweeps  the  Seine, 
onward  and  out  of  sight  like  the  silver  robe  of  a queen 
vanishing  into  stately  distance.  To  the  left  is  Paris  ; 
— a vision  of  aerial  bridge,  building  and  tower, — and  at 
times  when  the  sunset  is  like  fire  and  the  wind  is  still, 
— when  the  bells  chime  musically  forth  the  hour,  and 
every  turret  and  chimney  is  bathed  in  roseate  light,  one 
might  almost  imagine  it  a fairy  city,  gleaming  aloft 
mirage-like,  for  one  marvellous  moment,  only  to  disappear 
the  next.  Once  past  the  bridge  you  enter  the  Bois, 
where  the  open  road  leads  to  Longchamps ; but  there  are 
many  nooky  paths  and  quiet  corners  down  under  the  tall 
trees  by  the  edge  of  the  river  itself,  where  one  may  bask 
whole  hours  in  happy  solitude, — solitude  so  complete  that 
it  is  easy  to  imagine  oneself  miles  away  from  any  city. 
Often  and  often  I had  wandered  hither  in  my  boyhood, 
reading  some  favorite  book  or  giving  myself  up  to  pleas- 
ant day-dreaming  and  air-castle-building ; yet  to-night  I 
gazed  upon  the  familiar  scene  entirely  bewildered  and  with 


* A case  of  this  kind  happened  near  Paris  last  year. 


WORMWOOD. 


201 


all  the  puzzled  uncertainty  of  a stranger  ignorant  of  his 
whereabouts.  Suresnes  itself  was  quiet  as  a crypt;  its 
principal  caje  was  shut  up  and  not  a single  lamp  glimmered 
in  any  window  of  any  house  that  I could  see, — the  moon- 
beams alone  silvered  the  roofs  and  doors  and  transformed 
the  pretty  bridge  to  a sparkling  span  of  light.  The  tide 
was  high, — it  made  a musical  rushing  and  gurgling  as  it 
ran  ; I leaned  upon  the  bridge-parape't  and  listened  to  its 
incessant  murmur,  half  soothed,  half  pained.  Then, 
sauntering  slowly,  and  trying,  as  I went,  to  understand 
something  of  the  hushed  and  spiritual  beauty  of  the  land- 
scape,— for  this  sort  of  comprehension  was  daily  becoming 
more  difficult  to  me, — I moved  on  towards  the  Bois.  The 
great  leaf-covered  trees  rustled  mysteriously,  and  min- 
gled their  sighs  with  the  liquid  warbling  of  the  waters  ; — 
there  was  no  living  soul  to  be  seen,— this  hour  of  sol- 
emn quietude  and  rest  seemed  all  for  me,  and  for  me 
alone. 

Once  across  the  bridge  I paused,  looking  into  the 
further  stretches  of  the  woodland.  The  air  was  so  very 
still,  that  I could  hear  the  distinct  fall  of  the  artificial 
cascade,  that,  with  its  adjacent  cafe , is  the  scene  of  many 
a pleasant  summer  rendezvous ; and,  for  a moment  I 
thought  I would  walk  thus  far.  Suddenly,  with  a loud 
silvern  clang,  a neighboring  church  clock  struck  the 
bour — eleven.  It  sounded  more  like  the  Mass-bell  than 
a clock  chime, — and  my  thoughts,  which  were  always  in 
a scattered  and  desultory  condition,  began  to  swarm  like 
bees  round  the  various  ideas  of  religion  and  worship  it 
suggested.  I reflected  how  many  a canting  hypocrite 
earned  dishonest  bread  by  playing  a sanctimonious  part 
before  the  so-called  sacred  altars, — altars  polluted  by 
such  paid  service  ; how,  in  every  church,  in  every  form  of 
creed,  men,  preaching  one  thing  and  openly  practising 
another,  offered  themselves  as  “ Christian  examples  ” 
forsooth  to  their  less  professing  brethren  ; — how  smug 
priests  and  comfortable  clergymen,  measuring  Christianity 
solely  as  a means  whereby  to  live,  profaned  the  name  of 
Christ  by  the  mere  utterance  of  it  in  their  false  and 
greedy  mouths  ; — and  how,  in  these  days,  religion  was 
rendered  such  a ghastly  mockery  by  its  very  teachers, 
that  it  was  no  wonder  if  some  honest  folk  preferred  to 
believe  in  no  God  at  all,  rather  than  accept  a God  in 


202 


WORMWOOD . 


whom  His  servants  could  profess  to  find  such  incon- 
sistency and  absolute  lack  of  principle. 

All  at  once  my  thoughts  took  flight  like  a flock  of 
scared  birds,  as  they  often  did  ; a sick  swimming  sensa- 
tion in  my  head  made  me  clutch  at  the  near  branch  of  a 
tree  for  support, — the  whole  landscape  went  round  in  a 
green  circle,  and  the  stars  looked  pushed  forth  from  the 
sky  in  jets  of  flame.  All  was  red,  green,  and  white  daz- 
'zlement  before  me  for  a moment, — and  to  master  this  un- 
comfortable faintness  which  threatened  to  end  in  a swoon, 
I moved  unsteadily,  feeling  my  way  as  though  I were 
blind,  down  towards  the  river’s  brink.  I had  an  idea 
that  I would  rest  there  awhile  on  the  cool  grass  till  I re- 
covered ; and  I went  towards  one  of  the  most  sequestered 
and  lonely  nooks  I could  just  then  confusedly  Remember ; 
a tiny  plat  of  velvety  greensward  shaded  about  by  huge 
umbrageous  elms,  where,  from  the  encircling  shadows, 
one.  could  look  out  on  the  brighter  waters,  and  inhale  the 
freshness  of  whatever  light  wind  there  was.  I went  on 
very  feebly,  for  my  senses  were  in  a whirl  and  seemed  on 
the  point  of  deserting  me  altogether ; I bent  aside  the 
branches,  and  slipped  between  the  closely-set  and  inter- 
twisted trunks  in  order  to  gain  as  speedily  as  possible  the 
spot  I sought, — when,  as  though  I had  received  a par- 
alyzing electric  shock  I stopped,  staring  ahead  of  me  in 
doubt,  wrath,  and  wonder  ; — a rush  of  strength  was  hurled 
into  me — a superhuman  force  that  strung  up  my  every 
nerve  and  sinew  to  almost  breaking  tension, — and  I 
sprang  furiously  forward,  uttering  an  oath  that  was  half 
a cry.  A man  stood  near  the  river’s  edge, — a man  in  the 
close  black  garments  of  a priest ; and  he  turned  his  face, 
fair,  cold,  and  pale,  fearlessly  towards  me  as  I came. 

“ You — you  !”  I whispered  hoarsely,  for  rage  choked 
my  voice, — “ You,  here, — Silvion  Guidel ! ” + 


WORMWOOD, 


203 


XXII. 

' 4 

His  eyes  rested  on  me  quietly,  almost  indifferently  ; 
dense,  dark,  weary  eyes  they  were  that  night  ! — and  he 
sighed. 

“ Yes,  I am  here,”  he  said  slowly.  “ I have  tried  to 
keep  away,  but  in  the  end  I could  not.  Is  she  well  ? ” 
I stared  at  him, — too  maddened  by  wrath  and  amaze- 
ment for  the  moment  to  speak.  He,  never  removing  his 
gaze  from  me,  repeated  his  question  anxiously — 

“ Tell  me,  is  she  well  ? I have  no  right  to  know, 
perhaps, — you  are  her  husband, — but  I — I was  her 
lover,  God  forgive  me  ! — and  again  I ask, — is  she  well  ? ” 

He  was  ignorant  then  of  all  that  had  happened  ! As 
this  fact  forced  itself  on  my  comprehension,  my  fury  froze 
into  sinister  calm. 

“ She  is  dead  ! ” I answered  curtly  and  with  a chill 
smile. 

He  gave  a slight  disdainful  gesture,  still  keeping  his 
eyes  upon  me. 

“ I do  not  believe  you,”  he  said.  “ She  could  not  die, 
— not  yet  ; she  is  too  young, — too  beautiful  ! Would 
she  were  dead  ! — but  I know  she  is  not.” 

“ You  know  she  is  not  ! ” I retorted.  “ How  do  you 
know  ? I tell  you  she  is  dead  ! — dead  to  every  one  that 
honored  or  loved  her  ! What  ! — has  she  not  sought  you 
out  before  this  ? — she  has  had  ample  time.” 

His  face  grew  very  white — his  look  expressed  sudden 
fear  and  bewilderment. 

“ Sought  me  out ! ” he  stammered  hurriedly.  “ What 
do  you  mean  ? Is  she  not  your  wife  ? — have  you  not 
married  her  ? ” 

My  hands  clenched  themselves  involuntarily  till  the 
nails  dug  into  my  flesh. 

“j Lache ! ” I cried  furiously.  “ Dare  you  suppose 

that  I would  wed  your  cast-off  mistress  ? ” 

With  a sudden  supple  movement  he  turned  upon  me, 
and  seizing  me  by  both  shoulders  held  me  as  in  a vice. 

“ Do  not  say  that,  Gaston  Beauvais  ! ” he  muttered 


204 


WORMWOOD . 


fiercely,  his  rich  voice  trembling  with  passion.  “ Do  not 
fling  one  word  of  opprobrium  at  the  child  whose  very  in* 
nocence  was  her  ruin  ! Here,  as  we  two  stand  face  to 
face  alone  with  the  night  and  God  as  witnesses,  do  we 
not  know  the  truth,  you  and  I,  as  men,  that  it  is  we  who 
take  dastardly  advantage  of  the  passionate  impulse  of  a 
young  girl’s  tenderness,  and  that  often  her  very  sin  of 
love  looks  white  virtue  compared  to  our  black  vice  ! I 
— I alone  am  to  blame  for  my  darling’s  misery  ; — you 
have  not  married  her,  you  say, — then  where  is  she  ? As 
mine  was  the  fault,  so  shall  mine  be  the  reparation, — God 
knows  the  bitterness  now  of  my  remorse  ! But  do  not 
you  presume  to  judge  her,  Gaston  Beauvais  ! — you  are  no 
more  than  man , and  as  such,  the  condemnation  of  a woman 
ill  becomes  you  ! ” 

He  loosened  his  grasp  of  me  so  swiftly  that  I reeled 
slightly  back  from  him, — the  old  magnetic  charm  of  his 
voice  restrained  my  rage  for  an  instant,  and  I gazed  at 
him  half  stupefied.  The  wonderful  spiritual  beauty  of  his 
face  was  intensified  by  the  moon’s  mellow  luster  ; his 
proud,  almost  defiant  attitude  would  have  suggested  to 
any  ordinary  observer  that  it  was  he  who  was  the  offend- 
ed,  and  I the  offender  ! Had  we  been  playing  our  life- 
parts  on  the  theatrical  stage,  the  sympathy  of  the  audi- 
ence would  have  assuredly  gone  with  him  and  away  from 
me,  all  because  he  looked  handsome,  and  spoke  fear- 
lessly ! Such  is  the  world’s  villainous  inconsistency  ! 
He  waited,  as  though  to  rally  his  forces  ; — I waited  too, 
considering  how  best  I could  pierce  that  saintly  exterior 
down  to  the  satyr  heart  within  ! A curious  nervous  trem- 
bling seized  me  ; my  pulses  began  to  gallop  and  the  blood 
hummed  tumultuously  in  my  ears,  but  nevertheless  I 
managed  still  to  keep  up  the  outward  appearance  of  per- 
fect composure. 

“ Where  is  she  ? ” he  again  demanded. 

“ On  the  streets  of  Paris ! ” I answered  sneeringly. 

“My  God!”  and  he  sprang  towards  me.  “Her 
father ” 

“ Is  dead  and  buried  ! What  next  ? Ask  ! — I shall1 
not  scruple  to  tell  you  the  result  of  your  work,  Silvion 
Guidel ! It  is  well  that  when  you  perform  mass,  you. 
should  know  for  whom  to  pray ! ” 

And  I laughed  bitterly.  His  head  drooped  on  his 


WORMWOOD. 


breast, — his  features  grew  wan  and  rigid,  and  a deep  sigh 
shuddered  through  his  frame. 

“ Pauline ! Pauline  ! ” I heard  him  mutter  under  his 
breath.  “ Poor  little  child  ! — what  can  I do  for  thee  ? ” 
At  this,  the  venomous  passion  of  my  soul  seemed  to 
urge  itself  into  full-voiced  utterance. 

“ What  can  you  do  ? ” I exclaimed.  “ Nothing  ! You 
are  too  late ! You  talk  of  reparation, — what  reparation 
is  possible,  now  ? You  .had  it  in  your  power  to  make 
amends, — you  could  at  least  have  married  the  girl  whose 
mind  you  contaminated  and  whose  life  you  wronged  ! 
But  no ! — you  slunk  into  the  refuge  of  the  priesthood  like 
a beaten  cur  ! — you  proved  yourself  a betrayer,  deserter, 
and  coward ! — and  like  a sanctimonious  fool  and  hypo- 
crite as  you  were  trusted  to  my  generosity  to  cover  your 
crime  ! As  well  trust  a tiger  not  to  tear  ! What ! Did 
you  take  me  for  a church  saint  ? Have  I ever  played  that 
part  ? — have  I ever  pretended  to  be  more  than  man  ? X 
told  you  once  that  I would  never  forgive  even  the  closest 
friend  who  dared  to  deceive  me, — do  you  think  my  words 
were  mere  feigning  ? Listen ! Pauline  de  Charmilles 
confessed  her  shame  to  me  in  secret, — / proclaimed  it  in 
public ! I do  not  love  dishonor, — I set  no  value  on 
flawed  jewels  ! I rejected  her  ! — mp.rk  you  that,  Silvion 
Guidel,  holy  servant  of  the  church  as  you  are  ! — I rejected 
her  on  the  very  day  appointed  for  our  marriage,  in  pres- 
ence of  all  those  fine  birds  of  fashion  that  came  to  see  us 
wedded  ! — ah,  it  was  a rare  vengeance,  and  sweeter  to  me 
than  any  fortune  or  fame  ! What  now  ? Is  there  some- 
thing unusual  in  my  aspect  to  so  arouse  your  pious  won- 
der ? You  stare  at  me  as  if  you  saw  a dead  man  moulder- 
ing in  his  grave  ! ” 

His  eyes  flashed  forth  a fierce  and  unutterable  scorn. 

“ I see  worse  than  that ! ” he  answered  passionately. 
“ I see — oh  God ! — I see  what  I never  imagined  I should 
see  ! — a baser  villain  than  myself  ! ” 

He  paused,  his  breath  coming  and  going  rapidly, — 
then,  with  a wild  gesture  he  cried  out  as  though  suddenly 
oblivious  of  my  presence — 

“ Oh  Pauline,  Pauline  ! My  little  love  ! — my  angel ! 
Lost,  ruined,  and  deserted  ! — oh  Pauline  ! — Pauline  ! ” 

The  yearning  tenderness  in  his  voice  set  astir  a strange 
new  throbbing  in  my  blood,  and  drawing  a stealthy  step 


2o6 


WORMWOOD . 


or  two  nearer  I studied  his  agonized  face  as  I would  have 
studied  some  rare  or  curious  picture.  He  glanced  at  me 
where  I stood,  and  a strange  smile  curved  his  lips. 

“ Why  do  you  not  kill  me  ? ” he  said,  with  an  inviting 
gesture.  “ I should  be  glad  to  die  ! ” 

I made  no  immediate  answer.  Why  did  I not  kill  him  ! 
It  was  a foolish  question,  and  it  hummed  in  my  ears  with 
foolish  persistency.  To  escape  from  it  I forced  myself 
into  a side-issue  of  the  argument. 

“ Why  did  you  become  a priest  ? ” I asked. 

He  sighed. 

“ Because  I was  compelled,”  he  answered  wearily.  “ Of 
course  you  will  not  believe  me.  But  you  do  not  under- 
stand,— and  it  would  take  too  long  to  explain.  I could 
not  help  myself ; circumstance  is  often  stronger  than  will. 
I strove  against  it. — all  in  vain  ! — you  are  right  enough, 
when  you  speak  of  church  tyranny.  The  Church  is  a 
tyrant, — none  crueller,  more  absolute  or  more  lacking  in 
Christian  charity — its  velvet  glove  covers  a merciless 
hand  of  iron.  Once  made  a priest,  I was  sent  on  to 
Rome  ; and  there,  under  pretence  of  special  favor  and 
protection  I was  kept  in  close  attendance  on  cardinals  and 
monsignori ; — I prayed  for  news  from  home, — none  ever 
reached  me, — till  tired  of  v/aiting,  I came  away  by  stealth 
and  traveled  straight  to  Paris  ;~I  only  arrived  to-day.’’ 

“ And  why  are  you  herd  ” I demanded,  indicating  by  a 
gesture  the  surrounding  woodland  and  rippling  water. 

“ Why  ? ” — he  sighed  again,  and  looked  upward  to  the 
peaceful  sky  above  him — “ Because  here  the  heavens 
" smiled  upon  the  only  happiness  I ever  knew ! Love,  the 
natural  claim  and  heritage  of  man,  this  was  bestowed  upon 
me  here; — here  I won  the  tender  birthright  of  my  blood, 
— a birthright  which  priestly  usage  would  have  defrauded 
me  of  ! I came  here  too,  because  I dared  not  go  else- 
where ; — for  though  I was  ignorant  of  all  you  have  told 
me,  I avoided  my  uncle’s  house — I know  not  why — save 
that  I felt  I could  not  bear  to  enter  it, — now l ” 

I remained  silent,  watching  him. 

“ Here  was  our  secret  trysting-place ! ” he  went  on 
dreamily.  “ Here  under  these  trees,  beloved  for  her  sake, 
Pauline  has  wandered  with  me,  her  sweet  eyes  speaking 
what  her  lips  were  afraid  to  utter — her  little  hand  in  mine 
— her  head  resting  on  my  heart  l Here  we  two  have 


WORMWOOD. 


20% 

tasted  the  divinest  joy  that  life  can  ever  give,  or  death 
take  away, — joy  that  you  have  never  known,  Gaston 
Beauvais  !— no  ! for  my  darling  never  loved  you  ! Your 
touch  never  wakened  in  her  one  responsive  throb  of  pas- 
sion ; — she  loved  me,  and  me  alone  ! Ay  ! — even  if  you 
had  married  her,  and  if  my  faults  were  ten  thousand  times 
greater  than  they  are,  she  would  still  love  me  faithfully  to 
the  end  ! ” 

Here  was  specious  “ French  ” reasoning  with  a ven- 
geance ! I thought  I must  have  gone  mad  with  fury  as  I 
saw  the  expression  of  serene  triumph  on  that  pale  poet- 
face,  fair  as  an  angel’s  in  the  radiance  of  the  moon. 

“ You  boast  of  that  ? ” I said  hoarsely.  “ You  dare  to 
boast  of  that  ? ” 

He  smiled  victoriously. 

“ Even  so  ! I boast  of  that!  It  is  something  to  be 
proud  of,  to  have  been  loved  truly,  once  ! ” 

My  hands  clenched. 

“ Will  you  seek  her  out  ? ” I asked  breathlessly. 

“ I will ! ” 

“ When  ? ” 

“ To-morrow  i ” 

“ To-night  is  not  ended  ! ” I muttered,  edging  a little 
nearer  to  him  still,  and  trying  to  keep  my  thoughts  steady 
in  the  surging  tumult  of  hissing  and  whispering  noises 
that  buzzed  in  my  brain.  “ And, — if  you  find  her, — what 
then  ? ” 

“ What  then  ? ” — and  with  a reckless  gesture  of  mingled 
defiance  and  passion,  he  lifted  his  eyes  once  more  to  the 
observant  stars — “ Why,  then  it  may  be  that  I shall  con- 
demn my  soul  to  hell  for  her  sake  ! I shall,  if  the  Church 
is  the  Voice  of  God  ! But,  should  it  chance,  as  I have 
thought, — that  God  is  something  infinitely  more  supreme 
than  any  Church, — more  great,  more  loving,  more  ten- 
derly wise  and  pitiful  than  can  be  imagined  by  His  subject- 
creature  Man, — I doubt  not,  if  this  be  true,  that  when  I 
rescue  and  comfort  the  woman  I have  wronged  as  only 
love  can  comfort  her,— when  I kneel  at  her  feet  and  ask 
her  pardon  for  the  evil  I have  wrought, — even  thus  shall 
I make  my  surest  peace  with  Heaven  ! ” 

Canting  hypocrite  ! — vile  traducer  ! — worse  in  my  sight 
than  ever  for  his  braggart  pretence  of  piety ! Quick  as  a 
lightning  flash  the  suppressed  ferocity  of  my  soul  broke 


205 


WORM  WO  0D* 


forth, — and  without  warning  or  premeditation  I threw 
myself  savagely  upon  him. 

“ Best  make  peace  with  it  now  ! ” I cried.  “ For,  by 
God  ! it  is  your  last  chance  ! ” 

For  one  panting  second  we  stared  into  each  other’s  eyes, 

* — our  faces  almost  touching,  our  very  breaths  commin- 
gling : then,  yielding  to  the  natural  impulse  of  self-defence, 
he  closed  with  me  and  fought  strenuously  for  life.  He 
was  light,  agile  and  muscular,  and  would  have  proved  a 
powerful  opponent  to  most  men, — but  his  strength  was  as 
nothing  to  the  superhuman  force  that  possessed  me — the 
force  of  twenty  devils  as  it  were,  brought  into  opposition 
against  this  one  struggling  existence.  Wild  voices  sang, 
shouted,  and  yelled  in  my  ears  “ Kill ! Kill ! Kill  him  ! ” 
circles  of  fire  swam  before  me, — and  once  as  he  swerved 
back  from  my  grasp  and  nearly  fell,  I laughed  aloud, 
laughed,  as  I sprang  at  him  anew,  and  shook  him  furiously 
to  and  fro  as  a wild  beast  shakes  its  prey.  Closing  with 
me  again,  he  managed  to  seize  my  arms  in  such  wise  that 
for  the  moment  I was  rendered  powerless  ; and  once 
more  his  great  dark  eyes  flamed  into  mine. 

“ Are  you  mad,  Gaston  Beauvais  ? ” he  gasped.  “ Do 
you  want  to  murder  me  ? ” 

As  he  spoke,  my  rapid  glance  travelled  upward  to  his 
neck  which  showed  itself  bare  and  white  just  above  the 
close-set  priestly  band  of  his  black  habit, — I saw  where  I 
could  win  my  fearful  victory  ! I made  a pretence  of  fall- 
ing beneath  his  hold, — and  involuntarily  his  grasp  re- 
laxed ; — in  one  breath  of  time  I had  wrenched  myself 
free, — in  another,  my  two  hands  were  closed  fast  on  that 
smooth,  full  tempting  throat,  gripping  it  hard  as  a vice  of 
steel  ! . . . Tighter  ! — tighter  ! — and  the  fair  face  above 
me  grew  dark  and  convulsed, — the  flashing  gray-black 
eyes  started  horribly  from  their  sockets  ! — tighter  still ! — 
one  desperate  choking  struggle  more,  and  he  fell  prone 
on  the  sward,  I falling  upon  him,  so  that  the  deadly  clutch 
of  my  fingers  never  relaxed  for  a second  ! Once  down, 
my  murderous  task  was  easier, — my  wrists  had  more 
power, — and  I pressed  all  my  weight  upon  the  swelled 
and  throbbing  arteries  beneath  my  relentless  hands. 
Those  eyes  ! — how  they  glared  at  me  ! wide  open  and 
awfully  protruding ! — would  the  cursed  life  in  them  never 
be  quenched  ? 


WORMWOOD . 


209 

il  Die  ! — die  ! ” I muttered  fiercely  under  my  breath. 
tc  God  ! — That  it  should  take  so  long  to  kill  a man  ! ” 

Suddenly  a great  shudder  shook  the  limbs  over  which 
I crouched  brute-like  and  watchful, — those  pulsing  veins 
beneath  my  fingers  stopped, — the  head  fell  further  back, 
— the  lips  parted,  showing  a glimmer  of  pearly  teeth 
within,  in  the  ghastly  semblance  of  a smile, — and  then, — 
then  came  silence!  Silence! — horror!  What  now? 
What  did  it  all  mean  ? What  was  this  cold  awfulness — this 
dumb,  rigid,  staring  thing  ? — was  this  death  ? Seized  by 
a swift  frenzied  fear,  I sprang  up, — I looked  about  me 
everywhere.  Everywhere  solitude  ! — only  the  whisper- 
ing of  trees  and  shining  of  stars  ! Only  Nature,  and  thaty 
— that  strange  still  figure  on  the  grass  with  arms  out- 
spread on  either  side  like  a Christ  without  the  cross. 
What  had  I done?  I considered  doubtfully;  looking 
vaguely  at  my  own  hands  the  while.  No  stain  of  blood 
was  on  them  ! Had  I then  killed  him  ? No, — no  ! — not 
possible  ! He  had  swooned  ! 

I stepped  close  up  to  him, — I took  his  hand,— it  was 
warm. 

“ Guidel ! ” I said, — and  the  sound  of  my  own  voice 
startled  my  sense  of  hearing — “ Come  get  up  ! — do  not 
lie  there  as  if  I had  murdered  you  ! Get  up,  I tell  you  ! 
— Our  quarrel  is  over, — we  will  fight  no  more  ! ” 

Silence ! The  wide  open  eyes  regarded  me  fixedly,— 
they  were  glazing  over  with  a strange  film  ! A bird  darted 
from  one  of  the  branches  overhead,  and  flew  rustlingly 
through  the  air, — the  sound  of  its  wings  threw  me  into  a 
cold  perspiration,  and  I fell  on  my  knees  shuddering 
through  and  through.  I crawled  reluctantly  up  to  that 
dark  recumbent  mass,  ...  if  he  were  dead,  ...  if  he  were 
dead,  I thought,  quaking  in  every  limb, — why  then — I 
would  shut  those  eyes  ! My  previous  mad  fury  had  given 
place  to  weak,  half  delirious  terror  ; — I could  scarcely 
summon  up  the  courage  to  reach  out  my  hands  and  let 
them  hover  above  those  pallid  features,  that  in  all  the  con- 
torted agony  of  theirdast  expression  were  already  freez- 
ing under  my  very  gaze  into  a marble-like  rigidity  ? I 
touched  the  eyelids, — I pressed  them  firmly  down  over  the 
glassy  balls  beneath,  ...  so  ! — they  could  look  at  me  no 
longer  ! 

j With  a sigh  of  relief  I crawled  away  again,  and  once  at 


210 


WORM  WO  OD. 


arm’s  length  from  the  corpse,  stood  upright  wondering 
what  next  I should  do.  I had  killed  Silvion  Guidei ; — 
this  seemed  evident ; — and  yet  I strove  to  represent  to 
myself  that  it  was  not,  could  not  be  so.  Some  inherent 
weakness  of  the  heart’s  action  might  have  done  the  deed ; 
— it  could  not  have  been  the  mere  grasp  of  my  hands  ! 
But,  after  all, — had  I not  meant  to  kill  him  ? Had  not  the 
idea  slept  in  my  brain  for  weeks  without  declaring  itself  ? 
— and  had  it  not  become  actively  paramount  with  me 
from  the  moment  I saw  him  that  night  ? Yes  ! — it  wras  a 
murder — and  a premeditated  one  if  truth  were  told ! I 
had  violently  taken  a man’s  life  ! — I ! I looked  awfully 
round  at  my  victim, — and  looking,  shrieked  aloud  ! The 
eyes — the  eyes  that  I had  shut  so  fast,  were  open , — wide 
open  and  protruding  more  than  ever  ! How  they  stared  at 
me  ! — with  what  fixed  and  pertinacious  solemnity  ! In  a 
delirium  of  haste  I rushed  back  to  the  horrible  figure 
lying  prone,  and  pressed  my  fingers  hard  and  heavily  once 
more  upon  the  cold  yet  rebellious  lids.  But  in  vain  ! — 
they  curfed  upwards  again  from  under  my  very  touch,  and 
again  left  eyeballs  glassy  and  bare  ! I moaned  and  shivered 
while  the  sweat  poured  from  my  forehead  in  the  ex- 
tremity of  fear  that  possessed  me  ; — and  then  all  at  once 
a ghastly  thought  flashed  across  my  brain.  I had  heard 
scientists  say  that  the  eyes  of  a murdered  man  took  in 
their  last  look  the  portrait  of  his  murderer,  and  that  this 
so  terribly  painted  miniature  could  be  reproduced  faith- 
fully, line  for  line  ! Was  such  a thing  possible  ? . . . Oh 
why,  why  could  I not  shut  those  eyes  ! I could  stamp 
them  out  with  my  heel  if  I dared, — but,  I did  not 
dare  ! 

Again  I looked  up  at  the  stars, — then  down  at  the  river, 
whereof  the  tide,  now  risen  higher,  made  a roaring  rush 
of  music, — and  while  I waited  thus,  the  church  clock,  the 
same  I had  heard  before,  struck  midnight.  Only  an  hour 
had  passed  since  I stood  on  the  bridge,  an  evil-brooding 
man,  but  not — not  a murderer!  Only  an  hour  ! — it  seemed 
an  eternity, — and  truly  it  had  wrought  an  eternal  change 
in  my  destiny.  I had  shed  no  blood, — and  yet  the  air 
was  red  about  me, — the  very  stars  seemed  to  dart  at  me 
fiery  tongues  of  dame, — but  the  worst  thing  of  all  was  the 
horrible  passiveness,  the  dreadful  inertness  of  my  strangled 
foe, — for  oddly  enough  I knew  though  I had  killed  him. 


WORMWOOD . 


2\X 


at  the  same  time  I could  not  comprehend  why  he  should 
be  dead  ! 

I had  turned  my  back  upon  the  corpse,  but  now  I 
forced  myself  to  confront  it  once  more, — though  I strove 
my  utmost  to  avoid  its  terrible  eyes.  Silvion  GuidbPs 
eyes  they  were, — imagine  it  ! — those  strained,  glazed  an- 
guished, crjrstalline-looking  things, — the  eyes  that  had 
darkned  with  thought  and  lightened  with  love, — the  eyes 
that  had  flashed  their  passionate  prayer  into  the  eyes  of 
Pauline  ! — ha  ! what  would  she  say  if  she  could  see  them 
now?  Pauline’s  lover! — Pauline’s  seducer! — the  liber- 
tine,— the  Priest! — there  he  lay,  the  holy  chosen  servant 
of  Mother  Church, — dead!  Dead,  and  I had  killed  him  ! 
Good  ! For  the  millionth  time  or  more,  the  world’s  Cain 
had  proved  himself  stronger  than  God’s  favored  Abel  L 
And  yet,  you  say,  some  of  you,  that  God  is  “ omnipotent.’1* 
Tell  this  to  children  if  it  please  you,  but  spare  me,  an 
absintheur , from  so  unnecessary  a Lie! 

For  a time  my  brain  reeled  under  its  pressure  of  sicken- 
ing thought;  but  at  last  the  idea  came  to  me  that  I must 
somehow  or  other  get  rid  of  the  body.  I could  not  bury 
it ; — I could  perhaps  drag  it  or  carry  it  to  that  shelving 
bank  which  jutted  slopingly  into  the  river  at  a little 
distance  from  where  I stood,  and  from  thence  I could 
fling  it  into  the  Seine.  And  the  Seine  would  wash  it  to 
and  fro  and  disfigure  it  with  mud  and  weedy  slime,  and 
carry  it  perchance  down  like  a log,  past  cities,  towns,  and 
villages,  to  the  sea, — the  wide  merciful,  blank  sea,  where 
so  many  things  are  sunk  and  forgotten.  Unless — unless, 
it  should  be  found  and  dragged  ashore  ! — but  I could  not 
suffer  myself  to  think  of  this  probability  ; and  stringing 
up  every  nerve  and  sinew  to  the  labor,  I began  my  task. 
I lifted  the  corpse  from  the  ground,  always  appalled  by  the 
never-closing  eyes,  and  by  dint  of  the  strongest  effort, 
managed  to  support  its  chill  and  awful  weight  across  my 
shoulder,  while  I staggered  to  the  river’s  brink.  There 
stopping  and  panting  for  breath,  I laid  it  down,  struck 
once  more  by  the  tremulous  sense  that  life  after  all  might 
still  be  fluttering  within  this  stiffening  mass  of  clay. 
Keeping  my  courage  firm,  I bent  down  and  felt  the  heart ; 
— it  was  stone-still ; but  some  small  thing  like  a packet 
lay  pressed  above  it.  An  AgJius  Dei!  Oh  no! — priests; 
do  not  always  wear  purely  sacred  symbols  ! I took  it  out* 


212 


WORMWOOD. 


— it  was  a folded  paper  which  I opened,  and  found  inside  a 
thick  curl  of  soft  dark  hair.  Pauline’s  hair  ! — I knew  it 
well ! — the  touch  of  it,  the  delicate  scent  of  it,  made  me 
tremble  as  with  an  ague-fit — and  I hastily  thrust  it  into  my 
•own  breast.  Then  I stared  again  down  at  my  work, — and 
smiled  ! There  was  no  beauty  in  this  lifeless  lump  before 
•me, — death  by  strangulation  had  so  blackened  and  distort- 
ed the  features  that  their  classic  regularity  and  fairness 
was  no  longer  perceivable, — the  very  parting  of  the  lips, 
which  had  at  first  seemed  like  a faint  serene  smile,  had 
now  stiffened  into  a hideous  grin.  Death  is  not  always 
beautiful,  mes  amis  I The  pretty  sentimentalists  may  im- 
gine  it  so  if  they  choose,  but  it  is  far  more  often  repulsive 
in  its  effects  than  admirable,  believe  me  ! And  if  it 
chance  that  you  are  doomed  to  die  by  the  close  pull  of  the 
hangman’s  cord  about  your  throat,  or  the  grip  of  a mad- 
man’s fingers  close  on  your  windpipe,  you  may  be  sure 
your  countenance  will  not  be  a model  for  sculptors  after- 
wards ! 

Now,  as  I stood  regarding  my  victim  steadfastly,  a 
certain  grim  pleasure  began  to  stir  throbbingly  in  my 
veins.  I — I,  alone  and  unassisted  had  destroyed  all  that 
subtle  mechanism  of  manhood  called  God’s  handiwork  ; 
I had  defaced  all  that  comeliness  on  which  Nature  seemed 
to  have  set  her  fairest  seal ! Why  should  I have  been 
so  terrified  at  those  open  eyes,  I thought,  self-scorn ingly  ? 
— they  were  dead  things  and  lustreless  ; — their  reproachful 
expression  was  mere  seeming  / Quick  ! — into  the  quiet 
waters  with  such  useless  carrion  ! — let  it  first  sink  like  a 
stone  and  then  float,  a disfigured  blubber  mass,  on  the 
destroying  tide  ! For  water,  like  earth,  breeds  hungry 
corpse-devouring  creatures,  who  will  make  short  work  ci 
even  such  sacred  goods  as  a priest’s  dead  body  ! — besides, 

- — there  is  no  blood — no  sign  of  violence  anywhere, — no 
proof  of — of — murder  ! Stay,  though  ! — there  are  marks 
on  the  throat, — the  marks  of  my  throttling  fingers — 
but  what  of  that  ? Surely  the  river’s  quiet  working  will 
efface  these  in  an  hour  ? 

Raising  myself  stiffly  erect,  I peered  round  about  me 
on  all  sides,  and  scanned  the  opposite  bank  of  the 
-Seine  scrutinizingly,  lest  haply  some  lonely  musing  soul 
should  be  walking  there  and  watching  the  water  ripple 
caressingly  beneath  the  moon, — but  there  was  no  one  visi- 


WORMWOOD. 


21$ 


ble.  I might  have  been  alone  in  a desert,  so  profoundly 
still  and  solitary  was  the  night ; — all  nature  seemed 
gravely  occupied  in  watching  me,  or  so  I fancied ; the 
heavens  leaned  towards  me  with  all  their  whirling  stars, 
as  though  I had  drawn  them  down  to  stare  wonderingly 
at  my  slain  man  ! Once  more  1 lifted  the  body ; — this 
time  the  head  fell  back  over  my  arm  with  sickening 
suddenness,  and  a light  wind  fanned  the  clustering  hair 
backwards  from  the  brow.  Looking, — for  some  resistless, 
instinctive  force  compelled  me  to  look, — I saw  a slight 
but  deep  scar  running  just  across  the  left  temple, — 
whereupon  a new  fear  assailed  me.  If  found,  would  the 
corpse  be  recognized  by  that  scar  ? — was  there  anything 
else  that  might  give  a clue  to  its  identity,  and  so  start 
long  and  circumstantial  inquiries  and  researches  which 
in  the  end  might  track  me  out  as  the  murderer  ? I laid 
my  horrid  burden  down  again,  and  hastily  ransacked  the 
pockets  of  the  priestly  garments, — there  was  not  a letter 
or  paper  by  which  anything  could  be  traced, — only  a 
return  ticket  to  Rome,  which  I tore  up, — an  old  breviary 
and  a purse  containing  about  four  hundred  francs. 
There  was  no  name  in  the  breviary,  and  I put  it  back 
together  with  the  purse,  in  the  place  where  I had  found 
it.  In  leaving  the  money  thus  untouched,  I calculated 
that  if  discovered  at  all,  the  body  would  probably  be 
taken  for  that  of  a suicide, — as  a murdered  man  is 
generally,  especially  in  France,  deprived  of  valuables. 
That  sort  of  suspicion, — that  idea  of  murder — how  the 
word  chilled  me  ! — would  in  this  case  be  averted  ; — for  I 
attached  no  importance  to  the  circumstance  of  the 
priest’s  garb.  Priests  are  as  apt  to  kill  themselves  as 
other  people,  are  they  not  ? They  have  more  reason,  I 
should  say, — knowing  themselves  to  be  such  false 
pretenders  ! 

Satisfied  with  my  examination, — though  I could  not  do 
away  with  that  scar  on  the  temples, — I raised  the  rigid 
weight,  now  grown  heavier,  once  more, — the  arms  hung 
downwards,  stiff  and  inert, — one  of  the  hands  swinging 
round  as  I moved,  touched  me,  and  I nearly  shrieked 
aloud,  it  was  so  clammy  cold  ! I reached  the  edge  of 
the  shelving  bank,  and  then,  staggering  slowly,  inch,  by 
inch  along  the  natural  pier  of  stones  that  ran  out  into  the 
river,  I flung  the  corpse  from  me,  far  forward,  with  all 


214 


WORMWOOD . 


my  might  ! It  fell  crashingly  through  the  water,  the 
sonorous  echo  of  its  fall  resounding  on  both  banks  of, 
the  stream  to  such  an  extent  that  it  seemed  to  me  as 
if  all  the  world  must  instantly  awaken  from  sleep  and 
rush  upon  me  in  crowds  to  demand  a knowledge  of  my 
crime  !*  I waited— my  heart  almost  standing  still  with 
sheer  terror, — waited  till  the  close  circles  in  the  water 
widened  and  widened  and  melted  in  smooth  width  away. 
No  sound  followed, — no  cry  of  “ Murder  ! ” startled  the 
night, — all  was  quiet  as  before, — all  as  watchfully  ob- 
servant of  me  as  if  each  separate  leaf  on  the  branches  of 
the  trees  had  eyes  ! 

I hurried  back  to  the  spot  where  the  struggle  had  taken 
place,  and  there  with  eager  hands  and  feet,  I scraped  and 
smoothed  the  torn  and  trampled  earth,  and  walked  and 
re-walked  upon  it  till  it  looked  neatly  flat  as  a board  in 
the  clear  light  of  the  moon  ; aye — I even  overcame  my 
shuddering  reluctance  so  far  that  I coaxed  and  pulled  and 
brushed  up  the  crushed  grass  on  which  Silvion  Guidel  had 
fallen  down  to  die  ! 

So  ! — all  was  done  ! — and,  pausing,  I surveyed  the  scene. 
Oh  scene  of  perfect  peace ! — Oh  quiet  nook  for  love  in- 
deed ! — such  love  as  brought  Pauline  here  in  the  dewy 
flush  of  early  mornings  when  instead  of  praying  at  mass 
as  she  so  prettily  feigned,  she  listened  to  a pleading  more 
passionate  than  the  cold  white  angels  know  ! For  love 
— tfie  love  we  crave  and  thirst  for, — is  not  methinks  of 
holy  origin  ! — it  was  germinated  in  hell, — born  of  fire, 
tears,  and  restless  breathing  ; — the  bright  chill  realms  of 
heaven  hold  no  such  burning  flame  ! I cursed  the  fair- 
ness of  the  place,  and  Nature  mocked  my  curses  with  her 
.smile ! The  tranquil  moon  gazed  downwards  pensively, 
thinking  her  own  thoughts  doubtless  as  she  swept  through 
the  sky — the  trees  quivered  softly  in  their  dreams,  touched 
perchance  by  some  tender  rush  of  memory;  and  the  river 
lapped  whisperingly  against  the  shore  as  though  deliver- 
ing kisses  from  the  blossoms  on  one  side  to  the  blossoms 
on  the  other.  The  sleepy  enchantment  of  the  mingling 
midnight  and  morning  seemed  to  hang  like  an  opaline 
mist  in  the  air, — and  as  I looked,  I suddenly  felt  that  I, 
standing  where  I did,  had  all  at  once  become  a mere  out- 
cast and  alien  from  the  beautiful  confidence  of  Nature, — 
that  the  dead  body  I had  just  thrown  in  the  murmuring 


WORMWOOD. 


2*S 

waters  was  far  more  gathered  into  the  heart  of  things 
than  I ! » 

Slowly  and  with  an  inexplicable  reluctance  I crept  away, 
— slinking  through  the  trees  like  a terrified  beast  that 
shuns  some  fierce  pursuer ; afraid  of  both  moonbeams  and 
shadows,  and  still  more  afraid  of  the  deep  calm  about  me 
— a calm  that  could  almost  be  felt.  I stole  out  of  the 
Bois,  and  set  foot  on  the  Suresnes  bridge— a loose  plank 
creaked  beneath  my  tread,  and  the  sound  sent  the  blood 
up  to  my  brow  in  a hot  rush  of  pain, — and  then — then 
some  impulse  made  me  pause.  Some  deadly  fascination 
seized  me  to  lean  my  arms  upon  the  bridge-parapet  and 
look  over,  and  down,  into  the  river  below.  The  water 
heaved  under  me  in  a silvery  white  glitter, — and  while  I 
yet  gazed  downwards, — a dark  mass  drifted  into  view — 
a heavy  floating  blackness,  out  of  which  two  glistening 
awful  eyes  stared  at  me  and  at  the  moon  ! . . . clutching 
at  the  edge  of  the  parapet,  I hung  over  it,  with  beating 
heart  and  straining  sight — anon,  I broke  into  a fit  of  de- 
lirious laughter ! 

“ Silvion  ! ” I whispered.  “ Silvion  Guidel  ! What  t 
— are  you  there  again  ? Not  at  rest  yet?  Sleep,  man!, 
sleep  ! Be  satisfied  with  God  now  you  have  found  Him  ! 
— Good-night,  Guidel ; good-night ! ” 

Here  my  laughter  suddenly  spent  itself  in  a fierce  sob- 
bing groan, — I shrank  back  from  the  parapet  trembling 
in  every  limb, — and  like  a sick  man  yaking  out  of  a 
morphia-sleep  I suddenly  realized  that  the  tide  seemed 
flowing  towards  Paris, — not  down  to  the  sea  ! Well ! — 
what  then  ? 

I dared  not  stop  to  think  ! With  a savage  cry  I covered 
my  face  and  fled, — fled  in  furious  panting  hastfe  and  fear, 
rushing  along  the#  silent  road  to  the  city  with  the  reckless, 
speed  of  an  escaped  madman,  and  followed  as  it  seemed 
by  the  sound  of  a whispered  “ Murder  ! Murcia ' /”  hissed 
after  me  by  the  vindictive,  upward-turning  Seine,  that 
pursued  me  closely  as  I ran,  bearing  with  it  its  awful  wit- 
ness to  the  black  deed  I had  done  ! 


2l6 


WORMWOOD. 


XXIII. 

For  the  next  three  or  four  days  I lived  in  a sort  of 
feverish  delirium,  hovering  betwixt  hope  and  terror7,  satis- 
faction and  despair.  But  by  degrees  I began  to  make 
scorn  of  my  own  cowardice, — for  though  I searched  all 
the  newspapers  with  avidity  I never  saw  the  one  thing  I 
dreaded, — namely  an  account  of  the  discovery  of  a priest’s 
body  in  the  Seine,  and  a suggestion  as  to  his  having  come 
to  his  death  by  foul  means.  Another  murder  had  been 
committed  in  Paris  just  the  day  after  I had  killed  Silvion 
Guidel, — and  it  was  a particularly  brillant  one — quite 
dramatic  in  fact.  The  mistress  of  a famous  opera-tenor 
had  been  found  in  her  bed  with  her  throat  cut,  and  the 
tenor, — a ladies’  favorite, — had  been  arrested  for  the 
crime  in  spite  of  his  gracefully  stagey  protestations  of 
sorrow  and  innocence.  This  event  was  the  talk  of  Paris, 
— so  that  one  corpse  more  or  less  found  floating  in  the 
river  would  at  such  a time  of  superior  excitement,  awaken 
very  little  if  any  interest.  For  though  the  natural  stu- 
pidity of  the  unofficial  man  is  great,  that  of  the  strictly 
official  personage  is  even  greater.  I allude  to  the  chiefs 
of  the  police.  They  are  a very  excellent  class  of  block- 
heads and  their  intentions  are  no  doubt  admirably  just 
and  severe, — but  they  have  too  much  routine, — too  many 
little  absurd  minutke  of  rule  and  etiquette  out  of  which 
they  can  seldom  be  persuaded  to  move.  It  follows  there- 
fore that  the  perpetrators  of  crime  having  no  specially 
•designed  routine,  and  being  generally 'totally  lacking  in 
etiquette,  very  often  get  the  best  of  it,  and  that  nine  out 
of  every  ten  murders  remain  undiscovered.  It  was  so  in 
my  case ; — it  is  so,  you  may  be  sure,  in  many  another. 
Mere  formal  rule  must  be  done  away  with  in  the  task  of 
•discovering  a murderer, — there  must  be  less  writing  of 
•documents,  and  tying  of  tape,  and  docketing  of  accounts, 
and  more  instant  and  decisive  action.  When,  for  example, 
a policeman  on  duty  finds  the  body  of  a murdered  and 
mutilated  woman  in  a pool  cf  blood  on  a doorstep,  and 
after  much  cogitation  and  redaction,  decides  that  blood- 


WORMWOOD . 


217 


hounds  might  be  useful  in  tracking  the  murderer,  he 
would  do  well  to  got  those  bloodhounds  at  once,  and  not 
wait  till  the  next  day  when  the  scent  will  be  more  than 
difficult  to  pursue.  But  I have  no  wish  to  complain  of 
the  respectable  muddlers  who  sit  in  their  offices  carefully 
writing  descriptive  reports  and  compiling  evidence,  while 
the  criminal  they  are  in  search  of  probably  passes  under 
their  very  windows  with  a triumphant  grin  and  scornful 
snap  of  his  gory  fingers, — not  at  all  ! On  the  contrary,  I 
am  very  much  obliged  to  them  for  never  taking  any 
trouble  about  me,  and  allowing  me  to  roam  through  Paris 
at  perfect  liberty.  For  at  the  time  I strangled  my  priestly 
victim,  I had  no  wish  to  be  even  known  as  a murderer. 
“ Extenuating  circumstances  ” would  no  doubt  have  been 
found  sufficiently  strong  to  save  me  from  the  guillotine, — 
but  I really  should  not  have  cared  particularly  for  the 
renown  thus  attained!  Yes,  renown! — why  not?  A 
notorious  Paris  murderer  gains  more  renown  in  a day 
than  a great  genius  in  ten  years  ! There  is  a difference 
in  the  quality  of  renown,  you  say  ? I fail  to  see  it ! 
There  is  a difference,  if  you  like,  in  the  character  of  the 
person  renowned, — but  the  renown  itself — the  dirty  hand- 
clapping of  the  many-tongued  mob, — is  almost  the  same. 
Because,  the/,  the  mob,  never  praise  a great  man  without 
at  the  same  time  calumniating  him  for  some  trifling  fault 
of  character, — likewise,  they  never  cast  their  opprobrium 
at  a criminal  without  discovering  in  him  some  faint  speck 
of  virtue  of  which  they  frequently  make  such  a hullabaloo, 
that  it  sometimes  looks  as  if  they  thought  him  a martyred 
saint  after  all  ! “ Not  this  man,  but  Barabbas  ! ” is 

shouted  all  over  the  world  to  this  day, — the  crucifixion  of 
great  natures  and  the  setting  free  of  known  robbers  is 
the  common  and  incessant  custom  of  the  crowd.  We  are 
- told  by  the  teachers  of  the  present  age,  that  Christianity 
is  a myth, — its  Founder  a legendary  personage, — but  by 
all  the  creeds  of  this  world  and  the  next,  the  story  remains 
and  I fancy  will  continue  to  remain,  a curiously  true  and 
significant  symbol  of  Humanity  ! 

I suppose  nearly  a week  must  have  passed  since  I had 
sent  Silvion  Guidel  to  his  account  with  that  Deity  he  pro- 
fessed to  serve,  when  one  day,  straying  down  a back- 
street/  which  was  a short  cut  to  the  obscure  hotel  I in- 
habited, I saw  Pauline  ! It  was  dusk,  and  she  was  hurry- 


2 l8 


WORMWOOD. 


ing  along  rapidly ; but  for  one  instant  I caught  sight  of 
the  young  childish  face,  the  soft  blue  eyes,  the  dark  curl- 
ing clusters  of  hair.  She  did  not  perceive  me,  and  I fol- 
lowed her  at  a distance,  wondering  whither  she  was 
bound  and  how  she  lived.  She  was  miserably  clad, — her 
figure  looked  thin  and  shadowy ! — but  she  walked  with  a 
light  swift  step, — a step  which  to  my  idea  seemed  to 
imply  that  some  interest  or  hope  or  ambition  still  kept 
her  capable  of  living  on,  though  lonely  and  abandoned 
in  the  wild  and  wicked  world  of  Paris.  Suddenly  at  a cor- 
ner she  turned  and  disappeared, — and  though  I pursued 
her  almost  at  a run  I could  not  discover  in  what  direction 
she  had  gone.  Provoked  at  my  own  stupidity,  I rambled 
aimlessly  up  and  down  the  place  1 found  myself  in,  which 
was  a mere  slum,  and  was  on  the  point  of  asking  some 
questions  at  one  of  the  filthy-looking  hovels  close  by,  when 
a haqd  grasped  me  from  behind,  a loud  laugh  broke  on 
my  ears,  and  I turned  to  confront  Andre  Gessonex. 

“ Have  you  come  to  pay  me  a visit,  mon  cher  ? ” he 
asked,  with  a half  mock,  half  ceremonious  salutation, 
“ By  my  faith,  you  do  me  an  inestimable  honor  ! 1 live 

here” — and  he  pointed  to  a miserable  tenement  house, 
the  roof  of  which  was  half  off  and  the  three  upper  win- 
dows broken.  “ Behold  ! — 4 Appartements  Meubles  !y  5 ” 
And  true  enough,  this  grandiose  announcement  was  dis- 
tinctly to  be  read  on  a wooden  placard  dangling  from  one 
of  the  aforesaid  broken  windows.  44 1 have  the  best 
floor,”  he  continued,  44  the  4 salon  * let  us  call  it ! — the 
other  apartments  I have  not  examined,  but  I should 
imagine  they  must  be  airy  ! No  doubt  they  also  com- 
mand an  open  view  from  the  roof,  which  would  probably 
be  an  attraction.  But  enter,,  cher  Beauvais  ! — enter  ! — I 
am  delighted  to  welcome  you  ! — the  best  I have  of  every- 
thing is  at  your  service  ! ” 

And  with  the  oddest  gestures  of  fantastic  courtesy,  he 
invited  me  to  follow  him. 

I hesi4*ted  a moment, — he  looked  so  wild  about  the 
eyes,  so  gaunt  and  ghastly,  that  for  the  moment  I won- 
dered whether  I was  not  perhaps  entrusting  myself  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  a madman.  Then  I quickly  remem- 
bered my  own  condition, — what  if  he  were  mad,  I thought, 
his  madness  had  not  led  him  to  commit  Murder, — not 
yet ! I had  a certain  dull  curiosity  to  see  whit  sort  of  a 


WORMWOOD . 


219 


place  he  dwelt  in, — I therefore  complied  with  his  request, 
and  stumbled  after  him  up  a crooked  flight  of  stairs, 
nearly  falling  over  a small  child  on  the  way, — a towzled 
half-naked  creature  who  sat  crouched  in  one  of  the  darkest 
corners,  biting  • a crust  of  bread  and  snarling  over  it  in 
very  much  the  fashion  of  an  angry  tiger-cat.  Gessonex, 
hearing  my  smothered  exclamation,  turned  round,  spied 
this  object  and  laughed  delightedly. 

“Ah  voila !”  he  cried.  “ That  is  one  of  my  models  of 
the  Stone  Period  ! If  you  have  kicked  that  charming  boy 
by  accident,  Beauvais,  do  not  trouble  to  ask  his  pardon  I 
He  will  not  appreciate  the  courtesy ! Two  sentiments 
alone  inspire  him — fear  and  ferocity  ! ” And  seizing  the 
mass  of  hair  and  rags  by  its  neck,  he  shook  it  to  and  fro 
violently,  exclaiming,  “ Viens  ici , bete  ! Mont  res  tes  de?its 
et  tes  ongles  / Viens  ! ” 

The  creature  uttered  some  unintelligible  sound,  and 
got  on  its  feet,  still  biting  the  crust  and  snarling, — and 
presently  we  all  three  stood  in  a low  wide  room,  littered 
about  with  painter’s  materials  and  various  sorts  of  taw- 
dry rubbish,  where  the  first  thing  that  riveted  the  eye  was 
an  enormous  canvas  stretched  across  the  wall,  on  which 
the  body  of  a nude  Venus  was  displayed  in  all  its  rotun- 
dity,— the  head,  not  yet  being  painted  in  was  left  to  the 
imagination  of  .the  spectator.  Gessonex,  still  grasping 
the  bundle  he  called  his  “bete ,”  threw  himself  down  in  a 
chair,  after  signing  to  me  to  take  whatever  seat  I found 
convenient, — and,  with  the  handle  of  a long  paint-brush, 
began  by  degrees  to  lift  the  matted  locks  of  hair  from  off 
the  face  of  the  mysterious  object  he  held,  who  bit  and 
growled  on  continuously,  regardless  of  his  patron’s  atten- 
tions. Presently,  a countenance  became  visible — the 
countenance  of  a mingled  monkey  and  savage, — brutish, 
repulsive,  terrible  in  all  respects  save  for  the  eyes,  which 
were  magnificent, — jewel-like,  clear  and  cruel  as  the  eyes 
of  a wolf  or  a snake. 

“ There  ! ” said  Gessonex  triumphantly,  turning  the 
strange  physiognomy  round  towards  me, — “ There's  a boy 
for  you  ! He  would  do  credit  to  the  antediluvian  age, 
when  Man  was  still  in  process  of  formation.  The  chin, 
you  see,  is  not  developed, — the  forehead  recedes  like  that 
of  the  baboon  ancestor, — the  nose  has  not  yet  received 
its  intellectual  prominence, — but  the  eyes  are  perfectly 


220 


WORMWOOD . 


formed.  Now  about  these  eyes, — you  have  in  them  the 
most  complete  disprovers  of  the  poetical  sentiment  about 
‘ eyes  being  the  windows  of  the  soul/  because  this  child 
has  simply  no  soul.  He  is  an  animal,  made  merely,  if  we 
quote  Scripture,  to  4 arise,  kill  and  eat.’  He  has  no  idea 
of  anything  else, — his  thoughts  are  as  the  thoughts  of 
beasts,  and  the  only  sentences  of  intelligible  speech  he 
knows  are  my  teaching.  Hear  him  ! — he  will  give  you  an 
excellent  homily  on  the  duty  of  life.  Now  tell  me,  moil 
singe/  he  went  on,  addressing  the  boy,  and  artistically 
lifting  up  another  of  his  matted  curls  with  the  paint-brush 
handle, — “ What  is  life  ! It  is  a mystery  to  us ! Will 
you  explain  it  ? ” 

The  savage  little  creature  glared  from  one  to  the  other 
of  us  in  sullen  curiosity  and  fear, — his  breath  came 
quickly  and  he  clenched  his  small  grimy  hands.  He  was 
evidently  trying  to  remember  something  and  found  the 
effort  exhausting.  Presently  between  his  set  teeth  came 
the  words — 

“ Tai /aim  !” 

“ Bravo  ! ” said  Gessonex  approvingly,  still  arranging 
the  hair  of  his  protege . “Very  well  said!  You  see, 
Beauvais,  he  understands  life  thoroughly,  this  child ! ‘ Jai 
/aim  !’  All  is  said  ! It  is  the  universal  cry  of  existence 
— hunger  ! And  the  remarkable  part  of  the  whole  affair 
is  that  the  complaint  is  incessant ; even  Monsieur  Gros- 
Jean , conscious  of  the  well-rounded  paunch  he  has  ac- 
quired, through  over-feeding,  has  never  had  enough,  and 
at  morning,  noon,  and  evening,  propounds  the  hunger 
problem  afresh,  and  curses  his  chef  for  not  providing 
more  novelties  in  the  cuisine . Humanity  is  never  satis- 
fied,— it  ransacks  earth,  air,  ocean, — it  gathers  together 
gold,  jewels,  palaces,  ships,  wine — and  woman, — and 
then,  when  all  is  gotten  that  can  be  gained  out  of  the  la- 
boring universe,  it  turns  its  savage  face  towards  Heaven 
and  apostrophizes  Deity  with  a defiance.  ‘This  world  is 
not  enough  for  my  needs  ! ’ it  cries.  4 1 will  put  Orion 
in  my  pocket  and  wear  the  Pleiades  in  my  buttonhole  ! 
— I will  have  Eternity  for  my  heritage  and  Thyself  for  my 
comrade  ! —fai /aim  !’  ” 

He  laughed  wildly,  and  opening  a drawer  near  him, 
took  out  a small  apple  and  threw  it  playfully  aloft. 

“ Catch  ! ” he  cried,  and  the  boy,  tossing  up  his  head 


WORMWOOD. 


221 


caught  it  between  his  teeth  with  extraordinary  precision 
as  it  fell.  “ Well  done  ! Now  let  us  see  you  munch  as 
Adam  munched  before  you — ah  ! what  a juicy  flavor ! — 
if  it  were  only  a stolen  morsel,  it  would  be  ever  so 
much  sweeter  ! Sit  there  ! ” — and  he  pointed  to  an  old 
bench  in  the  opposite  corner,  whereon  the  strange  child 
squatted  obediently  enough,  his  wonderful  eyes  sparkling 
with  avidity  as  he  plunged  his  sharp  teeth  in  the  fruit 
which  was  to  him  an  evident  rare  delicacy.  “ He  is  the 
most  admirable  rat-hunter  in  Paris,  I should  say,”  went 
on  Gessonex,  eyeing  him  encouragingly.  “ Sharp  as  a 
ferret  and  agile  as  a cat ! — he  kills  the  vermin  by  scores, 
and  what  is  very  human,  eats  them  with  infinite  relish 
afterwards  ! ” 

I shuddered. 

“ Horrible  ! ” I exclaimed  involuntarily.  “ Does  he 
starve,  then  ? ” 

Gessonex  regarded  me  with  a rather  pathetic  smile. 

“ My  friend,  we  all  starve  here,”  he  answered  placidly. 
<l  It  is  the  fashion  of  this  particular  quartier.  Some  of 
us, — myself  for  instance, — consider  food  a vulgar  super- 
fluity ; and  we  take  a certain  honest  pride  in  occasionally 
being  able  to  able  to  dispense  with  it  altogether.  It  is 
more  a la  mode  in  this  neighborhood,  which,  however,  is 
quite  aristocratic  compared  to  some  others  close  by  ! All 
the  same  I am  really  rather  curious  to  know  what  has 
brought  you  here,  mon  cher  ! May  I,  without  rudeness,  ask 
the  question  ? ” 

“ I saw  a woman  I thought  I knew,”  I answered  eva- 
sively. “ And  I followed  her.” 

“ Ah  ! — And  the  result  ? ” 

“ No  result  at  all.  I lost  sight  of  her  suddenly,  and  do 
not  know  how  or  where  she  disappeared.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  Gessonex  again  meditatively.  “ Women 
are  very  plentiful  in  these  parts, — that  is,  a certain  sort 
of  women, — the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  demi-monde . 
From  warm  palaces,  and  carriages  drawn  by  high-fed 
prancing  horses  they  come  to  this, — and  then, — to  that !” 

He  pointed  through  the  window  and  my  eyes  followed 
his  gesture, — a glittering  strip  of  water  was  just  pallidly 
visible  in  the  deepening  twilight, — a curving  gleam  of  the 
Seine.  A faint  tremor  shook  me,  and  to  change  the  sub- 
ject, I reverted  once  more  to  the  “ brute  ” child,  who  had 


222 


WORMWOOD. 


now  finished  his  apple  and  sat  glowering  at  us  like  a 
young  owl  from  under  his  tangled  bush  of  hair. 

“ What  is  he  ? ” I asked  abruptly. 

“ My  dear  Beauvais,  I thought  *1  had  explained ! 
said  Gessonex  affably.  “ He  is  a type  of  the  Age  of 
Stone  ! But  if  you  want  a more  explicit  definition,  I 
will  be  strictly  accurate  and  call  him  a production  of 
Absinthe  ! ” 

I started, — then  controlled  myself  as  I saw  that 
Gessonex  regarded  me  intently.  I forced  a smile. 

“ A production  of  Absinthe  ? ” I echoed  incredulously. 

“ Precisely.  Of  Absinthe  and  Mania  together.  That 
is  why  I find  him  so  intensely  interesting.  I know  his 
pedigree,  just  as  one  knows  the  pedigree  of  a valuable 
dog  or  remarkable  'horse, — and  it  is  full  of  significance. 
His  grandfather  was  a man  of  science. ’’ 

I burst  out  laughing  at  the  incongruity  of  this  state* 
ment,  whereupon  Gessonex  shook  his  head  at  me  in 
mock-solemn  reproach. 

“ Never  laugh,  mon  ami , at  a joke  you  do  not  entirely 
understand.  You  cannot  understand,  and  you1  never  will 
understand  the  awful  witticisms  of  Mother  Nature, — and 
it  is  a phase  of  her  enormous  jesting  that  I am  about  to 
relate  to  you.  I repeat, — this  boy’s  grandfather  was  a 
man  of  science  ; — with  a pair  of  spectacles  fixed  on  his 
nose  and  a score  or  so  of  reference  volumes  at  hand,  he 
set  about  prying  into  the  innermost  recesses  of  creation. 
Through  his  lunettes  he  peered  dubiously  at  the  Shadow- 
Brightness  called  God,  and  declared  Him  to  be  non  est . 
He  weighed  Man’s  heartland  mind  in  his  small  brazen 
scales,  and  fossilized  both  by  his  freezing  analysis.  He 
talked  of  Matter  and  of  Force, — of  Evolution  and  of 
Atoms.  Love  went  on,  Faith  went  on,  Grief  went  on, 
Death  went  on, — he  had  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  any 
of  these, — his  main  object  was  to  prove  away  the  flesh 
and  blood  of  Life,  and  leave  it  a mere  bleached  skeleton. 
He  succeeded  admirably, — and  at  the  age  of  sixty,  found 
himself  alone  with  that  skeleton!  He  dined  with  it, 
supped  with  it,  slept  with  it.  It  confronted  him  at  all 
hours  and  seasons,  rattling  its  bones,  and  terrifying  him 
with  its  empty  eye-sockets  and  dangling  jaws.  At  last, — 
one  stormy  night,— its  hand  roused  him  from  sleep,  and 
showed  him  the  exact  spot  where  his  razor  lay.  He  took 


WORMWOOD. 


223 


the  hint  immediately, — made  the  long  artistic  slit  across 
his  throat  which  the  skeleton  so  urgently  recommended, 
—and  died — or,  to  put  it  more  delicately,  departed  to 
that  mysterious  region  where  lunettes  are  not  worn,  and 
knowledge  is  imparted  without  the  aid  of  printer’s 
ink.  He  was  a very  interesting  individual, — great  when 
he  was  alive,  according  to  the  savants , — forgotten  in  the 
usual  way,  now  he  is  dead.” 

He  paused,  and  I looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

“Well?”  ^ \ 

“ Well ! He  left  one  son,  a charmingly  dissolute  indi- 
vidual, whose  sole  delight  in  life  was  to  drink  and  dance  the 
hours  away.  A remarkable  contrast  to  his  father,  as  you 
may  imagine  ! — and  herein  Dame  Nature  began  her  little 
pyschological  game  of  cross-purposes.  This  fellow,  bom 
in  Paris  and  a worshipper  of  all  things  Parisian,  took  to 
Absinthe  in  very  early  manhood, — not  that  I .blame  him 
for  that  in  the  least, — because  it  is  really  a fascinating 
hobby  ! — and  afterwards,  through  some  extraordinary 
freak  of  the  gods,  became  an  actor.  Night  after  night,  he 
painted  his  face,  padded  his  legs,  and  strutted  the  boards, 
feigning  the  various  common  phases  of  love  and  villainy 
in  that  lowest  of  all  professions,  the  ape-like  art  of  Mim- 
icry. He,  unlike  his  reverend  parent,  never  troubled  him- 
self concerning  the  deeper  questions  of  life  at  all ; Chaos 
was  his  faith,  and  Nonentity  his  principle  ! His  stage-ap- 
pearance, particularly  his  leg-padding,  captivated  a dancer, 
who  went  by  the  sobriquet  of  ‘ Fatima  ’ ; — she  passed  for 
an  Odalisque,  but  was  really  the  daughter  of  a Paris 
washerwoman, — and  he  was  likewise  smitten  by  her  abum 
dant  charms, — wild  eyes,  flowing  hair  and  shapely  limbs, — 
and  after  a bit  the  two  made  up  their  minds  to  live  together. 
Marriage  of  course  was  not  considered  a necessity  to 
people  of  their  reputable  standing, — it  seldom  is,  in  these 
cases  ! Love,  however,  or  the  passion  they  called  by  that 
name,  proved  much  too  weak  and  inadequate  a rival  to 
cope  with  Absinthe, — the  ‘green  fairy’  had  taken  a firm 
hold  of  our  friend  the  actor’s  mind, — and  whether  his 
amour  had  turned  his  head,  or  whether  the  emerald  elixir 
had  played  him  an  ill  turn  I cannot  tell  you,  but  for  some 
months  after  he  had  taken  up  his  residence  with  the  charm- 
ing 'Fatima’  he  was  the  victim  of  a singular  and  exceed- 
ingly troublesome  frenzy  This  was  neither  more  nor  toss 


V 

224  WORMWOOD. 

than  the  idea  that  his  4 cliere  amie'  was  a scaly  serpent  whose 
basilisk  eyes  attracted  him  in  spite  of  his  will,  and  whose 
sinuous  embraces  suffocated  him  and  drove  him  mad. 
His  behavior  under  these  curious  mental  circumstances 
was  excessively  irritating, — and  finally,  after  enduring  his 
preposterous  eccentricities  till  her  patience  (of  which  she 
had  a vefy  slight  stock)  was  entirely  exhausted,  la  belle 
Fatima  bundled  him  off  to  a lunatic  asylum,  where,  finding 
no  sharp  instrument  convenient  to  his  hand  as  his  father 
had  done  before  him,  he  throttled  himself  with  his  own 
desperate  fingers.  Imagine  it ! — such  a determined 
method  of  strangulation  must  have  been  a most  unpleasant 
exit ! ” 

A tremor  ran  through  me  as  he  spoke,  and  I averted  my 
gaze  from  his. 

“ It  was  a most  unfortunate  affair  altogether,”  con- 
tinued Gessonex  reflectively — “ and  I’m  afraid  it  must  be 
set  down  chiefly  to  the  fault  of  Absinthe,  which  though  a 
most  delightful  and  admirable  slave,  is  an  exceedingly  bad 
master  ! Yes  ! ” and  he  mused  over  this  a little  to  him-  • 
self — “an  exceedingly  bad  master!  If  people  would  only 
imitate  my  example,  and  take  all  its  pleasures  without  its 
tyranny,  how  much  wiser  and  better  that  would  be  ! ” 

I forced  myself  to  speak, — to  smile. 

“The  '‘passion  verte*  never  subdues  you,  then?  You 
subdue  it  ? ” 

Our  eyes  met.  A yellowish-red  flush  crept  through  the 
sickly  pallor  of  his  skin,  but  he  laughed  and  gave  a care- 
less gesture  of  indifference. 

“ Of  course  ! Fancy  a man  being  mastered  and  con-’ 
trolled  by  a mere  liqueur!  The  idea  is  sublimely  ridic- 
ulous ! To  complete  my  story  ; — this  boy  here, — this  ex- 
ponent of  the  Stone  Age, — is  the  child  of  the  absintheur 
and  his  4 serpent/ — begotten  of  mania  and  born  of  apathy, 
the  result  is  sufficiently  remarkable  ! I knew  the  parents, 
also,  the  savant  grandpapa, — and  I have  always  taken  a 
scientific  interest  in  this  their  only  descendant.  I think  I 
know  now  how  we  can  physiologically  resolve  ourselves 
back  to  the  primary  Brute-period,  if  we  choose, — by  living 
entirely  on  Absinthe  ! ” 

“ But  are  you  not  a lover  of  Absinthe  ? ” I queried  half 
playfully.  44  A positive  epicure  in  the  flavor  of  the  green 
nectar? — Why  then,  do  you  judge  &o  ill  of  its  effects ?” 


WORMWOOD . 


22$ 


He  looked  at  me  in  the  most  naive  wonderment. 

“ My  friend,  I do  not  judge  ill  of  its  effects  ! — there  you 
quite  mistake  me  ! I say  it  will  help  us  to  recover  our 
brute-natures, — and  that  is  precisely  what  I most  desire  ! 
Civilization  is  a curse, — Morality  an  enormous  hindrance 
to  freedom.  Man  was  born  a savage,  and  he  is  still  hap- 
piest in  a state  of  savagery.  He  has  been  civilized  over 
and  over  again,  believe  me,  through  immovable  cycles  of 
time, — but  the  savage  cannot  be  gotten  out  of  him,  and  if 
allowed  to  do  so,  he  returns  to  hH  pristine  condition  of 
lawless  liberty  with  the  most  astonishing  ease  ! Civilized, 
we  are  shackled  and  bound  in  a thousand  ways  when  we. 
wish  to  give  the  rein  to  our  natural  impulses ; we  should 
be  much  more  contented  in  our  original  state  of  brutish- 
ness and  nudity.  And  contentment  is  what  we  want, — 
and  what  in  our  present  modes  of  constrained  culture  we 
never  get.  For  example,  / am  not  half  as  civilized  as  the 
slain  unit  once  known  as  Me,  whom  I buried, — I told  you 
about  that  remarkable  funeral,  did  I not  ? — and  as  a 
natural  consequence  I am  much  happier  ! The  Me  who 
died  was  a painfully  conscious  creature,  always  striving 
to  do  good, — to  attain  the  impossible  perfection, — to  teach, 
and  love,  to  help  and  comfort  his  fellow-men  ; — mow,  thcr ■? 
was  a frightful  absurdity  ! Yes  ! that  Me  was  an  utter 
fool  ! — he  painted  angels,  poetic  ideals  and  visions  of 
ethereal  ecstasy — and  all  the  art  critics  dubbed  him 
an  ass  for  his  pains  ! And,  apropos  of  art, — as  you  are 
here,  Beauvais,  I want  you  to  see  my  last  work — it’s  not 
a bit  of  use  now,— but  it  may  be  worth  something  a 
hundred  years  hence.” 

“ Is  that  it  ? ” I inquired,  with  a movement  of  my  hand 
towards  the  headless  undraped  Venus. 

“ That ! — oh  no  ! That  is  a mere  study  of  flesh-tints 
a la  Rubens.  This  is  what  I call  my  6 chef-d’ceuvre  ! ’ ” 

And  springing  up  from  his  chair  excitedly,  he  went 
towards  the  further  end  of  the  room,  where  the  entire  wall 
was  covered  with  a dark  curtain  which  I had  not  perceived 
before, — while,  in  a sort  of  automatic  imitation  of  his 
patron’s  movements,  the  boy  with  the  wild  eyes  followed 
him  and  crouched  beside  him  on  the  floor,  watching  him. 
Slowly,  and  with  a fastidious  lingering  tenderness,  he 
drew  the  drapery  aside,  and  at  the  same  time  pushed  back 
the  blind  from  an  upper  window,  thus  allowing  the  light 


226 


WORMWOOD. 


to  fall  fully  on  the  canvas  displayed.  I stared  at  it  fasci- 
nated, yet  appalled, — it  was  so  sombrely  grounded,  that  for 
a moment  I could  not  grasp  the  meaning  of  the  weird  and 
awful  thing.  Then  it  grew  upon  me  by  degrees,  and  I 
understood  the  story  it  told.  It  was  the  interior  of  a vast 
church  or  cathedral,  gloomy  and  unillumined  save  by  one 
or  two  lamps  which  were  burning  low.  In  front  of  the 
altar  knelt  a priest,  his  countenance  distorted  with  mingled 
rage  and  grief,  wrenching  open,  by  the  sheer  force  of  his 
hands,  a coffin.  Fart  of  the  lid,  split  asunder,  showed  a 
woman’s  face,  still  beautiful  with  a strangely  seductive, 
sensuous  beauty,  though  the  artist’s  touch  had  marked  the 
blue  disfiguring  shadow  of  death  and  decay  beginning  to 
set  in  about  the  eyes,  nostrils,  and  corners  of  the  mouth. 
Underneath  the  picture  was  written  in  distinct  letters 
painted  blood-red — “ O Dieu  que  f abjure!  Rends-moi  cette 
femme!  ” 

A whole  life’s  torture  was  expressed  in  the  dark  and 
dreadful  scene, — and  on  me  it  had  a harrowing  nervous 
effect.  I thought  of  Silvion  Guidel, — and  my  limbs  shook 
under  me  as  I approached  to  look  at  it  more  nearly.  The 
savage  child  curled  up  on  the  floor,  fixed  its  eyes  upon 
me  as  I came,  and  pointing  to  the  picture,  muttered — 

“ Joli  ! Joli  ! II  meurt ! — rtest-ce-pas  qu’il  meurt  ? ” 

Gessonex  heard  him  and  laughed. 

“ Oui  chere  brute , il  meurt!  He  dies  of  disappointed 
passion,  as  we  all  die  of  disappointed  something  or  other, 
if  it  only  be  of  a disappointment  in  one’s  powers  of  breath- 
ing. What  do  you  think  of  it,  Beauvais  ? ” 

“ It  is  a magnificent  work  ! ” I said,  and  spoke  truly. 

“ It  is  ! — I know  it  is  ! ” he  responded  proudly.  “ But 
all  the  same  I will  starve  like  a rat  in  a hole  rather  than 
sell  it ! ” 

I looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

“ Why  ? ” 

“ Why  ? Because  I want  my  name  properly  advertised 
when  I am  dead, — and  the  only  way  to  get  that  done 
royally  is  to  bequeath  the  picture  to  France!  France, 
having  nothing  to  pay  for  it,  will  be  liberal  qf  praise, — 
and  the  art-critics  knowing  my  bones  cannot  profit  by 
what  they  say,  will  storm  the  world  with  loud  eulogium  ! ” 

He  dropped  the  curtain  over  the  painting  and  turned 
upon  me  abruptly. 


WORMWOOD . 


227 

“ Tell  me,  Beauvais,  have  you  tasted  absinthe  again 
since  that  night  we  met  ? ” 

“ Of  course  ! Frequently  ! ” 

His  eyes  flashed  into  mine  with  a singularly  bright  and 
piercing  regard.  Then  he  seized  my  hand  and  shook  it 
with  great  fervor. 

“ That  is  right ! I am  glad  ! Only  don’t  let  the  charm- 
ing fairy  master  you,  Beauvais  !— always  remember  to  keep 
the  upper  hand,  as  I do!  ” 

He  laughed  boisterously  and  pushed  his  long  matted 
locks  from  his  temples  ; of  course  I knew  he  was  as  in- 
fatuated a prey  to  the  fatal  passion  as  myself.  No  one 
loves  absinthe  lukewarmly,  but  always  entirely  and 
absorbingly. 

“ Come  ! ” he  cried  presently.  “ Let  us  do  something 
amusing  ! Let  us  go  to  the  Morgue  ! ” 

“To  the  Morgue  ! ” I echoed,  recoiling  a little, — I had. 
seen  the  place  once  long  ago  and  the  sight  had  sickened 
me — “ Why  to  the  Morgue  just  now  ? ” 

“ Because  it  is  dusk,  mon  ami, — and  because  the  charm 
of  the  electric  light  will  grace  the  dead  ! If  you  have 
never  been  there  at  this  hour,  it  will  be  a new  experience 
for  you, — really  it  is  a most  interesting  study  to  any  one 
of  an  artistic  temperament!  I prefer  it  to  the  theatre  !: 
— pray  do  not  refuse  me  your  company  ! ” 

I thought  a moment,  and  then  decided  I would  go  with 
him.  He,  putting  on  his  hat,  turned  to  the  “ brute  ” 
child. 

“Wait  till  I come  back,  mon  singe!"  he  said,  patting 
its  towzied  mane, — “ Kill  rats  and  eat  them  if  thou  wilt,— 
I have  at  present  nothing  else  for  thee.” 

Hearing  these  words  I took  out  a couple  of  francs  from 
my  pocket  and  offered  them  to  the  boy.  For  a second  he 
stared  as  if  he  could  not  believe  his  eyes, — then  uttered 
such  an  eldritch  screech  of  rapture  as  made  the  rafters 
ring.  He  kissed  the  money — then  crawled  along  the  floor 
and  kissed  my  feet, — and  finally  sprang  up  and  dashed 
away  down  the  rickety  stairs  with  the  speed  of  a hunted 
antelope,  while  Gessonex  looking  after  him,  laughed. 

“ He  is  a droll  little  creature  ! ” he  said.  “ Now  he  will 
buy  no  end  of  things  with  those  two  silver  coins, — he 
knows  how  to  bargain  so  well  that  he  will  get  double  what. 
I should  get  with  the  same  ameunt, — moreover  the  people: 


228 


WO  KM  l VO  OD* 


abouc  here  are  afraid  of  his  looks  and  his  savage  jabber- 
ing, and  will  give  him  anything  to  be  rid  of  him.  Yet  the 
nature  of  the  animal  is  such  that  he  will  put  all  his.  pur- 
chases on  this  table,  and  sit  and  glare  at  the  whole  menu 
without  touching  a morsel  till  I come  back  ! He  is  like 
^ dog,  fond  of  me  because  I feed  him, — and  in  this, 
though  a barbarian,  he  resembles  the  rich  man’s  civilized 
poor  relations  1 ” 


WORMWOOD. 


229 


XXIV. 

We  left  the  house  together  and  walked  through  the 
wretched  slum  in  which  it  was  situated,  I looking  sharply 
from  right  to  left  to  see  whether,  among  the  miserable 
women  who  were  gathered  gossiping  drearily  at  different 
doorways,  there  was  any  one  like  Pauline.  But  no, — they 
were  all  ugly,  old,  disfigured  by  illness  or  wasted  by  starva- 
tion,— and  they  scarcely  glanced  at  us,  though  the  fantastic 
Gessonextook  the  trouble  to  raise  his  battered  hat  to  them 
as  he  passed,  caring  nothing  for  the  fact  that  not  one  of 
them,  even  by  way  of  a jest,  returned  his  salutation.  We 
soon  traversed  the  streets  that  lay  between  the  quarter  we 
had  left  and  the  Morgue,  and  arrived  at  the  long,  low 
gruesome-looking  building  just  as  a covered  stretcher  was 
being  carried  into  it.  Gessonex  touched  the  stretcher 
in  a pleasantly  familiar  style. 

“ Qui  va  la  ? ” he  inquired  playfully. 

One  of  the  bearers  glanced  up  and  grinned. 

44  Only  a boy,  m’sieu  ! — Crushed  on  the  railway.’’ 

“ Is  that  all ! ” and  Gessonex  shrugged  his  shoulders — • 
“ Dieu  ! How  uninteresting  ! ” 

We  entered  the  dismal  dead-house  arm-in-arm, — the 
light  was  not  turned  full  on,  and  only  a pale  flicker 
showed  us  the  awful  slab,  on  which  it  is  the  custom  for 
unknown  corpses  to  be  laid  side  by  side,  with  ice  cold 
water  dripping  and  trickling  over  them  from  the  roof 
above.  There  were  only  two  there  at  the  immediate  mo- 
ment,— the  crushed  boy  had  to  be  carried  away  “ pour 
faire  sa  toilette  ” before  he  could  be  exposed  to  public 
view.  And  not  more  than  five  or  six  morl}id  persons  be- 
sides ourselves  were  looking  with  a fascinated  inquisitive- 
ness at  that  couple  of  rigid  forms  on  the  slab, — the 
emptied  receptacles  of  that  mysterious  life-principle  which 
comes  we  know  not  whence,  and  goes  We  know  not  where. 
As  I have  said,  the  light  was  very  dim,  and  it  was  diffi- 


WORMWOOD. 


*230 

cult  to  discern  even  the  outlines  of  these  two  corpses,— 
and  Gessonex  loudly  complained  of  this  inconveience. 

“ Sacre-bleu!  We  are  not  in  the  catacombs  ! ” he 
exclaimed.  “ And  when  a great  artist  like  myself  visits 
the  dead,  he  expects  to  see  them, — not  to  be  put  to  the 
trouble  of  guessing  at  their  lineaments  ! ” 

Those  who  were  present  stared,  then  smiled  and  seemed 
to  silently  agree  with  this  sentiment, — and  just  then 
a sedate  official-looking  personage  made  his  sudden  ap- 
pearance from  a side-door,  and  recognizing  Gessonex 
bowed  politely. 

“ Pardon  m'sieu  ! ” said  this  individual— “ The  light 
.shall  be  turned  on  instantly.  The  spectators  are  not 
many  ! ” This  apologetically. 

Gessonex  laughed  and  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

44  Ha ! Thou  art  the  man  of  little  economies,  mon 
ami  / ” he  said.  44  Thou  dost  grudge  even  the  dead  their 
last  lantern  on  the  road  to  Styx  ! Didst  never  hear  of  the 
Styx  ? — no  matter ! Come,  come, — light  up  ! It  may  be 
we  shall  recognize  acquaintances  in  yonder  agreeably 
speechless  personages, — one  of  them  looks,  in  this  dim 
twilight,  amazingly  ijiassive, — a positively  herculean  mon- 
ster ! ” 

The  official  smiled. 

44  A monster  truly  ! That  body  was  found  in  the 
river  two  days  ago,  and  m’sieu  is  perhaps  aware  that  the 
water  distends  a corpse  somewhat  unpleasantly.” 

With  these  words  and  an  affable  nod  he  disappeared, 
- — and  something — I know  not  what,  caused  me  to  care- 
lessly hum  a tune,  as  I pressed  my  face  against  the  glass 
screen,  and  peered  in  at  the  death-slab  before  me.  Sud- 
denly the  light  flashed  up  with  a white  glare, — hot,  bril- 
liant, and  dazzling,  and  for  a moment  I saw  nothing.  But 
I heard  Gessonex  saying — 

44  The  old  lady  is  prettier  than  the  young  man  in  this 
case,  Beauvais  ! Death  by  poison  is  evidently  more 
soothing  to  the  muscles  than  death  by  drowning  ! ” 

I looked, — and  gradually  my  aching  sense  of  vision 
took  in  the  scene. — The  first  corpse,  the  one  nearest  to 
me,  was  that  of  the  woman  of  whom  Gessonex  spoke  ; 
— some  one  standing  close  by  began  detailing  her  wretched 
history, — how  she  had,  in  a fit  of  madness,  killed  herself 
by  eating  rat-poison.  ^Her  features  were  quite  placid — the 


'~WORMtPddA;  231 

poor  old  Withered  body  was  decently  composed  and  rigid, 
and  the  little  drops  of  trickling  water  rolled  off  her  parched 
skin  like  pearls.  But  that  other  thing  that  lay  there  a 
little  apart, — that  other  dark,  livid,  twisted  mass, — was  it,  * 
could  it  be  all  that  was  mortal  of  a man  ? 

“ What  is  that  ? ” I asked,  pointing  at  it,  a little  vaguely 
no  doubt,  for  my  head  throbbed,  and  I was  conscious  of  a 
peculiar  straining,  choking  sensation  in  my  throat  that 
rendered  speech  difficult. 

“ ‘ That  9 was  a man,  but  is  so  no  longer  ! ” returned 
Gessonex  lightly.  “ He  is  now  an  It, — and  as  an  It  is 
remarkably  hideous  ! — so  hideous  that  I am  quite  fasci- 
nated ! I really  must  have  a closer  look  at  death’s  handi- 
work this  time, — come,  Beauvais  ! — M.  Jeteaux  knows 
me  very  well,  and  will  let  us  pass  inside.” 

M.  Jeteaux  turned  out  to  be  the  official  personage  who- 
had  previously  spoken  to  us, — and  on  Gessonex  stating  that 
he  wanted  to  make  a sketch  of  that  drowned  man,  but 
that  from  outside  the  glass  screen  he  could  not  see  the 
features  properly,  we  were  very  readily  allowed  to  enter. 

“ Only  that  the  face  is  hardly  a face  at  all,”  said  M. 
Jeteaux  with  affable  indifference.  “ One  can  scarcely 
make  out  its  right  lineaments.  The  oddest  thing  about 
this  particular  corpse  is  that  the  eyes  have  not  been  de- 
stroyed. It  must  have  been  floating  to  and  fro  in  the 
water  three  days  if  not  more,  and  it  has  been  here  two, — 
but  the  eyes  are  like  stone  and  remain  almost  Uninjured.” 

Thus  speaking,  he  accompanied  us  close  up  to  the 
marble  slab,  and  the  full  view  of  the  dead  creature  loomed 
darkly  upon  us.  The  sight  was  so  ghastly  that  for  a 
moment  the  careless  Gessonex  himself  was  startled, — 
while  I, — I staggered  backward  slightly,  overcome  by  a. 
reeling  sense  of  nausea.  Ugh  ! — those  blue,  swollen, 
contorted  limbs  ! — It  had  been  impossible  to  straighten 
them,  so  said  the  imperturbable  M.  Jeteaux, — in  fact  a 
“ toilette  ” for  this  twisted  personage  had  been  completely 
beyond  the  skill  of  the  valets  of  the  Morgue.  I mastered 
the  sick  fear  and  abhorrence  that  threatened  to  unsteady  my 
nerves, — and  came  up,  out  of  sheer  bravado,  as  closely 
as  I could  to  the  detestable  thing, — I saw  its  face,  all 
horribly  distended, — its  blue  lips  which  were  parted  widely 
in  a sort  of  ferocious  smile, — its  great  protruding  eyes, — 
God  ! — I could  hardly  save  myself  from  uttering  a shriek. 


WORMWOOD. 


232 

as  the  man  Jeteaux,  desirous  of  being  civil  to  Gessonex, 
lifted  the  unnaturally  swollen  head  into  an  upright  posi- 
tion, and  those  stony  yet  wet-glistening  eyes  stared 
vacantly  at  me  out  of  their  purple  sockets  ! 7 knew  them  * 
— truth  to  tell  I had  known  this  repulsive  corpse  all  the 
time  if  I had  only  dared  to  admit  as  much  to  myself  ! 
And  if  I had  had  any  doubts  as  to  its  identity,  those  doubts 
would  have  been  dispelled  by  that  straight  scar  on  the 
left  temple,  which,  as  the  drenched  hair  was  completely 
thrown  -hack  from  the  forehead,  was  distinctly  visible. 
Yes ! — all  that  was  mortal  of  Silvion  Guidel  lay  there 
before  me,  within  touch  of  my  hand, — I the  murderer  stood 
by  the  side  of  the  murdered  ! — and  as  far  as  I could  con- 
trol myself,  I showed  no  sign  of  guilt  or  horror.  But 
there  was  a loud  singing  and  roaring  about  me  like  the 
noise  of  an  angry  river  rising  into  flood, — my  brain  was 
giddy, — and  I kept  my  gaze  pertinaciously  fixed  on  the 
body  out  of  sheer  inability  to  move  a muscle  or  to  utter  a 
word.  The  cool  business-like  voice  of  M.  Jeteaux  close 
at  my  ear,  startled  me  horribly  though,  and  nearly  threw 
me  off  my  guard. 

“ He  was  a priest,” — said  the  official  with  a slight  ac- 
cent of  contempt — “ the  clothes  prove  that,” — and  he  in- 
dicated by  a gesture  a set  of  garments  (/recognized  them 
well  enough !)  hanging  up,  as  is  the  Morgue  custom,  im- 
mediately above  the  corpse  they  once  covered, — “ but  of 
what  Order,  and  where  he  came  from  no  one  can  tell. 
We  found  a purse  full  of  money  upon  him,  and  a breviary 
with  no  name  inside, — he  has  not  been  identified  and  he 
will  not  keep  any  longer, — so  to-morrow  he  will  be  re- 
moved.” 

“ Where  to  ? ” I inquired, — my  voice  sounding  thick 
and  far  away,  and  I coughed  violently,  as  a sort  of  excuse 
for  huskiness. 

Gessonex  laughed.  He  was  busy  making  a rapid 
pencil  sketch  of  the  corpse. 

“ Where  to  ? My  dear  friend,  to  the  comfortable 
‘ fosse] — the  ditch  of  death  wherein  we  all  drown  in  the 
end.  Of  course  we  can  have  our  own  private  patches  of 
ditch  if  we  choose  to  pay  for  such  a luxury, — but  we  shall 
fertilize  the  earth  better  if  we  allow  ourselves  to  be  thrown 
all  together  in  one  furrow, — it  is  more  convenient  to  our 
survivors,  and  we  may  as  well  be  obliging.  The  public 


WORMWOOD. 


233 


fosse 9 is  really  the  most  sensible  sort  of  grave,  and  the 
most  truly  religious  because  it  is  the  most  equalizing. 
This  man  ” — and  he  gave  a few  artistic  finishing  touches 
to  his  sketch — “ was  evidently  good-looking  once.” 

Jeteau  smiled  incredulously. 

M'sien  is  an  artist,  and  can  imagine  good  looks  where 
none  have  ever  existed,”  he  observed  politely. 

“Not  at  all,” — returned  Gessonex  still  working  rap- 
idly with  his  pencil.  “This  body  is  certainly  very  much 
swollen  by  the  water,  but  one  can  guess  the  original 
natural  outlines.  The  limbs  were  finely  moulded, — the 
shoulders  and  chest  were  strong  and  nobly  formed, — the 
face — yes  ! — it  is  probable  the  face  was  an  ideal  one — there 
are  faint  marks  upon  it  that  still  indicate  beauty, — the 
eyes  were  evidently  remarkable, — why  Beauvais  ! — what 
pleasant  jest  amuses  you  ? ” 

For  I had  broken  out  into  an  uproarious  fit  of  laughter, 
— laughter  that  I could  no  more  restrain  than  an  hyster- 
ical woman  can  restrain  her  causeless  tears.  And  when 
Gessonex  and  his  friend  Jeteaux  stared  at  me  in  surprise 
I became  fairly  convulsed  and  laughed  more  than  ever  ! 
Presently,  struggling  for  utterance — 

“ Mon  Dieu  ! ” I said.  “ Would  you  have  me  play 
tragedian  over  such  a spectacle  as  this  ? M.  Jeteaux 
says  he  was  a priest! — well,  look  at  him  now,  how  well 
he  represents  his  vocation  ! Is  not  his  mouth  most 
piously  open  and  ready  to  say  an  4 Ave  ! ’ — and  his  eyes 
— those  admirable  eyes ! — have  they  not  quite  the  ex- 
pression of  sanctimonious  holiness  so  ingeniously  prac- 
ticed by  all  of  his  crafty  calling  ? — A priest,  you  say  ! — a 
worshipper  of  God, — and  see  what  God  has  done  for  him  ! 
Defaced  his  beauty,  if  beauty  he  ever  had,  and  brought 
him  to  the  Morgue  ! — what  a droll  way  this  God  has  of 
rewarding  His  sworn  servants  ! ” 

M.  Jeteaux  appeared  vaguely  troubled  by  my  words. 
“ Perhaps  he  was  a bad  priest,” — he  suggested. 
“ There  are  many, — and  this  one  may  have  committed  so 
flagrant  an  error  of  discipline  that  he  probably  imagined 
the  only  way  out  of  it  was  suicide.” 

I laughed  again. 

“ Oh  ! you  think  him  a suicide  ? ” 

“Assuredly!  There  are  no  marks  of  violence, — and 
besides,  he  was  not  robbed  of  his  money.” 


234 


WORMWOOD. 


These  foolish  officials  ! Always  the  same  ideas  and 
the  same  routine  i Inwardly  I congratulated  myself  on 
my  own  cunning, — and  turning  to  Gessonex,  asked  him 
if  he  had  finished  his  sketch. 

“ Though  what  you  want  it  for  I cannot  imagine  ! ” I 
added  irritably. 

Gessonex  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“ Only  for  the  sake  of  study,”  he  returned.  “Just  to 
see  what  Death  can  do  for  a man’s  anatomy  ! See  ! ” — - 
and  he  touched  the  throat  of  that  which  had  been  Guidel, 
— “ the  arteries  here  are  swollen,  and  in  such  a way,  that 
one  could  almost  fancy  he  had  been  strangled  ! Again, 
observe  the  ribs, — they  start  through  the  flesh, — not  from 
meagreness,  but  from  having  made  a powerful  effort, — a 
struggle  for  life.  Here  the  sinews  of  the  leg  are  strained 
as  though  they  had  used  all  their  resisting  power  against 
some  opposing  body.  I am  not  an  artist  for  nothing,” — 
he  continued,  affably  turning  to  Jeteaux — “and  I assure 
you,  life  did  not  go  easily  or  willingly  out  of  this  priest, 
— he  was  probably  murdered.” 

Curse  him  and  his  knowledge  of  anatomy,  I thought ! — 
why  the  devil  could  he  not  hold  his  tongue!  M.  Jeteaux 
however  only  smiled,  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  Gessonex 
had  done,  and  spread  out  his  hands  with  a deprecatory 
gesture. 

“ Mats — m’sieu,  there  are  no  proofs  of  such  a crime,” 
he  said.  “ And  besides — a priest ! ” 

“True  !”  I interposed,  the  passion  of  ribald  laughter 
once  more  threatening  me, — “ a dead  priest  is  a ridiculous 
object ! A dead  dog  or  a dead  cat  is  more  worthy  of  pity 
in  these  times  ! France — our  France — has  nobly  declared 
herself  sick  of  priests,  won  ami ” — and  I clapped  him 
familiarly  on  the  shoulder — “ and  one  less  in  the  world  is 
a relief  to  us  all ! ” 

Jdteaux  was  quite  delighted  with  this  remark. 

“ M’sieu  is  a thinker  ? ” he  queried  pleasantly,  as  we 
left  the  Morgue  death-chamber,  and  turned  our  backs  on 
the  livid  mass  of  perishing  clay  once  called  “ le  beau  ” 
Silvion  Guidel. 

“ In  a way — yes  ! ” I responded  swiftly.  “ I think  as 
Paris  thinks— that  life  is  a bagatelle,  and  death  a 
satisfactory  finish  to  the  game  ! And  to  invent  a God 
and  pay  priests  to  keep  up  the  imposture  is  a disgrace 


WORMWOOD . 


*3S 


to  humanity  and  civilization  ! But  we  are  progressing 
quickly ! — we  shall  soon  sweep  away  the  old  legends 
and  foolish  nursery  superstitions — and  bury  them, — 
bury  them, — as — as  yonder  lump  of  dead  priestcraft  is 
to  be  buried  to-morrow, — in  the  common  4 fosse/  the 
receptacle  for  all  decayed  and  useless  lumber  which  ob- 
structs or  is  offensive  to  the  world  ! ” I paused, — then 
on  a sudden  impulse  added — “ He  is  to  be  buried  to- 
morrow— positively  ? ” 

Jeteaux  looked  surprised. 

“ The  body  in  there  ? — Mais , certai?iement,  m’sieu  ! — it 
could  not  be  kept  another  day ! ” 

This  idea  diverted  me  extremely.  44  It  ” could  not  be 
kept  another  day ! Here  was  this  brave  Silvion  Guidel, 
— once  beautiful  as  Antinous,  brilliant,  witty,  amorous, 
— he  was  no  more  than  so  much  tainted  flesh  that 
could  not  be  kept  above  ground  another  day ! And  I 
had  brought  about  this  pleasant  end  for  him — even  I ! 
I had  murdered  him, — I could  have  identified  him, — 
and  yet — no  one  guessed — no  one  imagined  the  secret 
that  there  was  between  that  quiet  corpse  and  me ! 
Despite  my  efforts  I laughed  wildly  again,  when  we  went 
out  of  the  Morgue,  though  I did  not  venture  to  give  an- 
other backward  glance  through  the  glass  screen, — 
laughed  so  loudly  and  long  that  Gessonex,  always  easily 
moved,  began  to  laugh  also,  and  soon  agreed  with  me  that 
the  sight  of  a dead  priest  was  after  all  a very  amusing 
entertainment. 

“ Let  me  see  your  sketch  I said  to  him  presently, 
when  we  stopped  a moment  to  light  our  cigarettes, — 
then,  as  he  handed  it  to  me — “ It’s  not  badly  done  ! — but 
you  have  made  the  eyes  like  saucers  ! 4 Bon  Dieu  ! ’ they 

seem  to  say — t Bends-moi  la  grace  d'ltre  amoureux  pour 
une  fois,  quoique  je  suis  pretre  ! Qu> est-ce-qiie  la  vie  sans 
aimer  une  femme  V ” 

I broke  into  another  laugh,  and  with  an  air  of  complete 
unconsciousness,  tore  the  sketch  into  minute  fragments, 
and  sent  the  bits  floating  on  the  breeze.  Gessonex 
uttered  a quick  exclamation. 

44  Sacre-bleu ! Do  you  know  what  you  have  done, 
Beauvais  ? ” 

I looked  at  him  blankly. 

“No!  What?” 


236 


WORMWOOD. 


“ You  have  torn  up  my  sketch  ! ” 

u Have  I ? Positively  I was  not  aware  of  it ! I 
thought  it  was  a bit  of  waste  paper  ! Forgive  me  ! — I 
often  get  frightfully  abstracted  every  now  and  then,— ever 
since  I took  to  drinking  absinthe  / ” 

He  turned  upon  me  with  nervous  suddenness. 

“ Dieu ! Have  you  taken  to  drinking  it  then,  as  a 
matter  of  course  ? ” 

“ As  a matter  of  life  ! — and  death  ! ” I replied  curtly. 

He  stared  at  me,  and  seemed  to  tremble, — then  he 
smiled. 

“ Good ! Then — you  must  also  take  the  conse- 
quences ! ” * 

“ I find  the  consequences  fairly  agreeable, — at  pres- 
ent.” 

“ Yes — so  you  may, — so  you  willy — until- ” He 

broke  off,  then  looked  sharply  behind  him, — he  had  an 
unpleasant  trick  of  doing  that  I noticed, — and  he  had 
frequently  startled  and  annoyed  me  by  those  quick  glances 
backwards  over  his  own  shoulder; — “ Can  you  see  him  ? ” 
he  whispered  abruptly,  a peculiar  expression  coming  into 
his  eyes  as  they  met  mine. 

“ See  him  ? See  whom  ? ” I queried  amazed. 

He  laughed  lightly. 

“ A friend, — or  rather  I should  say,  a creditor  ! He 
wants  his  bill  paid, — and  I am  not  disposed  to  settle  with 
him — not  just  yet!” 

We  were  standing  at  the  quiet  corner  of  a quiet  street, 
— I looked  from  right  to  left,  and  round  and  about  every- 
where, but  not  a soul  could  I perceive  but  our  two  selves. 

I shrugged  my  shoulders. 

“ Pshaw  ! You  are  dreaming,  Gessonex  ! ” He  smiled, 
— very  strangely,  I thought. 

46  So  are  you  ! ” he  responded  calmly.  “ Dreaming 
heavily, — a fiery,  drunken  dream  ! I know  ! — I know  all 
the  pleasure  of  it — the  madness  of  it ! But  absinthe  has 
its  waking  hours  as  well  as  its  sleep, — and  your  time  for 
waking  has  not  come.  But  it  will  come, — you  may  be 
sure  of  that  ? ” He  paused, — then  added  slowly — “ I am 
sorry  you  tore  up  my  sketch  ! ” 

“ I also  regret  it,  mon  cher  / ” I declared,  puffing  away 
at  my  cigarette — “ But  it  was  an  ugly  memory, — why  did 
you  want  to  keep  such  a thing  ? ” 


n ORMWOOD . 


237 


“ To  remind  me  of  death  ” — he  replied,— “ to  teach  me 
how  hideous  and  repulsive  and  loathsome  the  fairest  of 
us  may  become  when  the  soul  has  been  snatched  out  of 
us  and  lost  in  the  elemental  vortex.  God  ! — to  think  of 
it ! — and  yet,  while  the  soul  still  remains  in  us  we  are 
loved, — actually  loved /” 

“While  the  life  is  in  us,  you  mean  ! ” I said,  with  a cold 
smile.  “ There  is  no  soul,  so  say  the  Positivists.” 

“ The  soul — the  life  ; ”■ — murmured  Gessonex  dreamily 
— “ are  they  not  one  and  the  same  ? I think  so.  The 
vital  principle, — the  strange  ethereal  essence  that  colors 
the  blood,  strings  the  nerves,  lights  the  eyes,  and  works 
the  brain, — we  call  it  Life, — but  it  is  something  more  than 
life — it  is  Spirit.  And  imagine  it,  Beauvais  ! — we  have  it 
in  our  own  power  to  release  that  subtle  thing,  whatever 
it  is, — we  can  kill  a man  and  lo  ! — there  is  a lump  of  clay 
and  that  strange  essence  has  gone  ! — or,  we  can  kill  our- 
selves,— with  the  same  result.  Only,  one  wonders, — what 
becomes  of  us  ? ” 

“ Nirvana! — Nothingness!”  I responded  airily. 

“ That  is  the  Buddhist  idea  of  eternal  bliss — an  idea  that 
is  very  fashionable  in  Paris  just  now  ! ” 

Gessonex  turned  his  great  wild  eyes  upon  me  with  a 
look  of  vague  reproach. 

“Fashionable  in  Paris!”  he  echoed  bitterly — “even 
so  may  one  talk  of  being  fashionable  in  Hell ! The  city 
that  permits  the  works  of  a Victor  Hugo  to  drop  gradu- 
ally into  oblivion,  and  sings  the  praises  of  a Zola  who 
with  a sort  of  pitchfork  pen  turns  up  under  men’s  nos- 
trils such  literary  garbage  as  loads  the  very  air  with  stench 
and  mind-malaria ! — faugh  ! Religion  of  any  sort  foi 
Paris  in  its  present  condition  is  absurd, — it  is  like  offer- 
ing the  devil  a crucifix  ? Do  not  accept  Paris  opinions, 
Beauvais  ! — there  is  something  more  than  ‘ nothingness  9 
even  in  apparently  clear  space  ” — and  he  glanced  about 
him  with  an  odd  touch  of  dread  in  his  manner — “ Believe 
me,  there  is  no  nothingness  ! ” He  paused, — laughed  a 
little,  and  passed  his  hand  across  his  brows  as  though  he 
swept  away  some  unpleasing  thought.  “ Good-night  ! ” 
he  said  then, — “ I must  return  to  my  enfant  terrible , who 
will  starve  till  I come.  Again  I wish  you  had  not  torn  up 
that  sketch  ! ” 

“ So  do  I,  as  you  harp  upon  the  subject  so  persist- 


WORMWOOD. 


238 

ently” — I said,  with  mingled  irritation  and  contrition, — 
the  latter  feeling  I feigned  as  best  I could — “ I am  really 
very  sorry  ! Shall  we  go  back  to  the  Morgue  and  ask 
permission  to  take  another  view  ?” 

“ No,  no  ! ” — and  Gessonex  shuddered  slightly — “ I 
could  not  look  at  that  dead  priest  again  ! — There  was 
something  clamorous  in  his  eyes, — they  were  alive  with 
some  ghastly  accusation  ! ” 

I forced  a smile. 

“ How  unpleasantly  grim  you  are  this  evening,  Ges- 
sonex 1 ” 1 said  carelessly.  “ I think  I will  leave  you 

to  your  own  reflections.  Au  revoir  !” 

“Wait!  ” he  exclaimed  eagerly;  and  catching  my 
hand  in  his  own  he  pressed  it  hard.  “ I am  ‘ grim/  as 
you  say — 1 know  it ! I am  at  times  more  gloomy  than  a 
monk  whose  midnight  duty  k is  to  dig  his  own  gra^e  to 
the  sound  of  a muffled  bell.  But  it  is  not  always  so  ! — 
my  natural  humor  is  gay, — mirthful  enough  to  please 
the  wildest  bo?i  viveur , 1 assure  you  ! You  shall  see  me 
again  soon,  and  we  will  have  sport  enough  ! — tell  me 
where  I can  meet  you  now  and  then  ? ” 

I named  a cafe  on  the  Boulevard  Montmartre, — a 
favorite  resort  for  many  a sworn  absintheur . 

“ Ah  ! ” he  said  laughingly.  “ I know  the  place, — it 
is  too  grand  for  me  as  rule, — I hate  the  light,  the 

gilding,  the  painted  flowers,  the  ugly  fat  dame  de  comptoir , 
— but  no  matter  ! — I will  join  you  there  some  evening. 
Expect  me  ! ” 

“ When  ? ” I asked. 

“ Soon  ! When  my  creditors  will  allow  me  to  appear 
in  public  ! Bon  soir  / ” 

He  lifted  his  hat  with  his  usual  fantastic  flourish, — 
smiled,  and  was  gone.  I drew  a deep  breath  of  relief. 
For  some  moments  the  strain  on  my  nerves  had  been 
cerrific, — I could  scarcely  have  endured  his  companion- 
ship a moment  longer.  I looked  about  me.  I was  in 
a very  quiet  thoroughfare, — there  were  trees,  and  seats 
under  the  trees, — but  1 was  near  the  river, — too  near  ! 
I turned  resolutely  away  from  it,  and  walked  onward, — 
walked  till  I found  myself  in  the  lively  and  brilliant 
Avenue  de  l’Opera.  Here  I presently  saw  a man  pacing 
slowly  ahead  of  me,  clad  in  a priest’s  close  black  gar- 
ments. He  annoyed  me  terribly, — l had  no  desire  to  be 


WORMWOOD. 


239 


reminded  of  priestcraft  just  then.  Could  I not  get  in 
front  of  this  leisurely  strolling  fool  ? I hurried  my  steps, 
— and  with  an  effort  came  up  with  him, — passed  him — • 
looked  round — and  recognized  Silvion  Guidel . . . Sil- 
vion  Guidel, — pale-faced,  dreamy-eyed,  serene  as  usual, — 
only,  ...  as  I stared  wildly  at  him,  his  lips  fell  apart  in 
the  horrible  leering  smile  I had  seen  on  the  face  of  the 
corpse  in  the  Morgue  ! Heedless  of  what  I did,  I struck 
at  him  fiercely, — my  clenched  fist  passed  through  his 
seeming  substance  ! — he  vanished  into  impalpable  noth- 
ingness before  my  eyes ! I stamped  and  swore, — a 
hand  seized  and  swung  me  to  one  side. 

“ Va-t-en  bete !”  said  a rough  voice.  “ Tu  te  grises  trop 
fort ! ” 

Drunk  ! I ! I reeled  back  from  the  push  this  insolent 
passer-by  had  given  me,  and  rallying  my  forces  took  to 
walking  again  as  rapidly  as  possible,  concentrating  all 
my  energies  on  speed  of  movement ; and  refusing  to 
allow  myself  to  think . 

I soon  reached  a cafe  whereof  I was  a known  frequenter, 
and  called  for  the  one,  the  only  elixir  of  my  life,  the 
blessed  anodyne  of  conscience,  the  confuser  of  thought, 
and  drank  and  drank  till  the  very  sense  of  being  was 
almost  lost,  and  all  ideas  were  blurred  and  set  awry  in 
my  brain, — drank,  till  with  every  vein  burning  and  every 
drop  of  blood  coursing  through  my  body  like  hissing  fire, 
I rushed  out  into  the  calm  and  chilly  night,  maddened 
with  a sort  of  furious,  evil  ecstasy  that  was  perfectly  in- 
describable ! The  spirit  of  a mocking  devil  possessed 
me, — a devil  proud  as  Milton’s  Satan,  insidious  as 
Byron’s  Lucifer,  and  malevolently  cunning  as  Goethe’s 
Mephistopheles, — the  world  seemed  to  me  a mere  child’s 
ball  to  kick  and  spurn  at, — the  creatures  crawling  on  it, 
stupid  emmets  born  out  of  a cloud  of  dust  and  a shower 
of  rain  ! Yes — I was  maddened — gloriously  maddened  ! 
maddened  into  a temporary  forgetfulness  of  my  crime  of 
Murder ! — and  bent  on  some  method  of  forgetting  it 
still  more  and  more  utterly  1 Where  should  I go  ? — what 
should  I do  ? In  what  resort  of  fiends  and  apes  could  I 
hide  myself  for  a while,  so  as  to  be  sure,  quite  sure  that 
I should  not  again  meet  that  pale  yet  leering  shadow  of 
Silvion  Guidel  ? 


240 


WORM  WOOD* 


XXV. 

Pausing  for  a moment,  while  the  pavement  rocked 
unsteadily  beneath  me,  I tried  to  shape  some  course  of 
immediate  action,  but  found  that  impossible.  To  return 
to  my  own  rooms  and  endeavor  to  rest  was  an  idea  that 
never  occurred  to  me  ; rest  and  I were  strangers  to  each 
other.  I could,  not  grasp  at  any  distinct  fact  or  thought* 
* — I had  become  for  the  time  being  a mere  beast,  with 
every  animal  instinct  in  me  awake  and  rampant.  Intel- 
ligence, culture,  scholarship — these  seemed  lost  to  me, — 
they  occupied  no  place  in  my  drugged  memory.  Nothing 
is  easier  than  for  a man  to  forget  such  things.  A brute 
by  origin,  he  returns  to  his  brute  nature  willingly.  And 
I, — I did  not  stand  long  considering  or  striving  to  con- 
sider my  own  condition  there  where  I was,  close  by  the 
Avenue  de  l’Opera,  with  the  stream  of  passers-by  coming 
and  going  like  grinning  ghosts  in*  a dream, — I hurled  my- 
self, as  it  were,  full  into  the  throng  and  let  myself  drift 
with  it,  careless  of  whither  I went.  There  were  odd 
noises  in  my  ears,— ringing  of  bells,  beating  and  crashing 
of  hammers, — it  seemed  to  my  fancy  that  there,  spread 
out  before  me  was  a clear  green  piece  of  water  with  a great 
ship  upon  it; — the  ship  was  in  process  of  building  and  I 
heard  the  finishing  blows  on  her  iron  keel, — the  throbbing 
sound  of  her  panting  engines ; — I saw  her  launched,  when 
low! — her  giant  bulk  split  apart  like  a sundered  orange — 
and  there,  down  among  her  sinking  timbers  lay  a laughing 
naked  thing  with  pale  amber  hair,  and  white  arms  entwined 
round  a livid  corpse  that  crumbled  into  a skeleton  as  I 
looked, — and  anon,  from  a skeleton  into  dust ! All  the 
work  of  my  Absinthe-witch  ! — her  magic  lantern  of  strange 
pictures  was  never  exhausted  ! I rambled  on  and  on — 
heedless  of  the  people  about  me, — eager  for  some  dis- 
traction and  almost  unconscious  that  I moved, — but  burn- 
ing with  a sort  of  rapturous  rage  to  the  finger-tips, — a 


c 


WORMWOOD.  241" 

sensation  that  would  easily  have  prompted  and  persuaded 
me  to  any  deed  of  outrage  or  violence.  Mark  me  here, 
good  reader,  whosoever  you  are  ! — do  not  imagine  for  a. 
moment  that  my  character  is  an  uncommon  one  in  Paris  t 
Not  by  any  means ! The  streets  are  full  of  such  as  I am,. 
— men,  who,  reeling  home  in  the  furia  of  Absinthe,  will 
not  stop  to  consider  the  enormity  of  any  crime, — human 
wolves  who  would  kill  you  as  soon  as  look  at  you,  or  kill 
themselves  just  as  the  fancy  takes  them, — men  who  would 
ensnare  the  merest  child  in  woman’s  shape,  and  not  only 
outrage  her,  but  murder  and  mutilate  her  afterwards, — 
and  then,  when  all  is  done,  and  they  are  by  some  happy 
accident,  caught  and  condemned  for  the  crime,  will  smoke 
a cigar  on  the  way  to  the  guillotine  and  cut  a joke  with 
the  executioner  as  the  knife  descends  ! You  would  rather 
not  know  all  this  perhaps  ? — you  would  rather  shut  your 
eyes  to  the  terrific  tragedy  of  modern  life  and  only  see 
that  orderly  commonplace  surface  part  of  it  which  does  not 
alarm  you  or  shock  your  nerves?  I dare  say! — just  as> 
you  would  rather  not  remember  that  you  must  die  ! But 
why  all  this  pretence  ? — why  keep  up  such  a game  of 
Sham  ? Paris  is  described  as  a brilliant  centre  of  civili- 
zation,— but  it  is  the  civilization  of  the  organ-grinder’s 
monkey,  who  is  trained  to  wear  coat  and  hat,  do  a few 
agile  tricks,  grab  at  money,  crack  nuts,  and  fastidiously 
examine  the  insect-parasites  of  his  own  skin.  It  is  not  a. 
shade  near  the  civilization  of  old  Rome  or  Athens, — nor 
does  it  even  distantly  resemble  that  of  Nineveh  or  Baby- 
lon. In  those  age-buried  cities, — if  we  may  credit  his- 
torical records, — men  believed  in  the  dignity  of  manhood, 
and  did  their  best  to  still  further  and  ennoble  it ; — but  we 
in  our  day  are  so  thoroughly  alive  to  our  own  ridiculous- 
ness generally,  that  we  spare  neither  time  nor  trouble  in 
impressing  ourselves  with  the  fact.  And  so  our  most 
successful  books  are  those  which  make  sport  of,  and  find 
excuse  for,  our  vices, — our  most  paying  dramas  those 
which  expose  our  criminalities  in  such  a manner  as  to  just 
sheer  off  by  a hair’s-breadth  positive  indecency, — our 
most  popular  preachers  and  orators  those  which  have 
most  rant  and  most  hypocrisy.  And  so  we  whirl  along 
from  hour  to  hour, — and  the  heavens  do  not  crack,  and 
no  divine  thunderbolt  slays  us  for  our  misdeeds — if  they 
are  misdeeds  I Assuredly  the  Greek  Zeus  was  a far  more 
16 


WORMWOOD. 


*2\2 

interesting  Deity  than  the  present  strange  Immensity  of 
Eternal  Silence,  in  which  some  people  perchance  feel  the 
thought-throbbings  of  a vast  Force  which  broods  and 
broods  and  waits, — waits  maybe  for  a fixed  appointed  time 
when  the  whole  universe  as  it  now  is,  shall  disperse  like 
a fleece  of  film,  and  leave  space  clear  and  clean  for  the 
working  out  of  another  Creation. 

As  I tell  you,  if  I had  wanted  money  that  night,  I 
would  have  murdered  even  an  aged  and  feeble  man  to 
obtain  it ! If  I had  wanted  love, — or  what  is  called 
love  in  Paris,  I would  have  won  it,  either  by  flattery 
or  force.  But  I needed  neither  gold  nor  woman’s 
kisses, — of  the  first  I still  had  sufficient, — of  the  sec- 
ond, why ! — in  Paris  they  can  always  be  secured  at  the 
cost  of  a few  napoleons  and  a champagne  supper.  No  ! 
— I wanted  something  that  gold  could  not  buy  nor 
woman’s  lips  persuade, — Forgetfulness  ! — and  it  en- 
raged me  to  think  that  this  was  the  one,  the  only  thing 
that  my  Absinthe-witch  would  not  give  me  in  all  its 
completeness.  Some  drinkers  of  the  Green  Elixir  there 
are  who  can  win  this  boon, — they  sink  into  an  apathy 
that  approaches  idiotism,  as  the  famous  Dr.  Charcot 
will  tell  you, — they  almost  forget  that  they  live.  Why 
could  not  /do  this  ? Why  could  I not  strike  into  frag- 
ments at  one  blow,  as  it  were,  this  burning,  reflecting, 
quivering  dial-plate  of  memory  that  seared  and  scorched 
my  brain  ? Aimlessly  hurrying  on  as  though  bound 
on  some  swift  errand,  yet  without  any  definite  object 
in  view,  I arrived  all  at  once  in  front  of  a gateway 
over  which  a garish  arch  of  electric  light  flashed  its 
wavering  red,  blue,  and  green, — a sort  of  turnstile 
wicket  marked  the  side-entrance,  with  an  inscription 
above  it  in  large  letters — “ Bal  Masqu£  ! Entree 
Libre  ! ! ” There  are  plenty  of  such  places  in  Paris  of 
course,  though  I had  never  set  foot  in  one  of  them, — 
dancing-saloons  of  the  lowest  type  where  the  “ Entree 
Libre  ” is  merely  held  out  as  a bait  to  attract  a large 
and  mixed  attendance.  Once  inside,  everything  has  to 
tbe  paid  for, — that  is  always  understood.  It  is  the  same 
rule  with  all  the  cafes  chantants — one  enters  gratis , — 
but  one  pays  for  having  entered.  The  sound  of  music 
reached  me  where  I stood, — wild,  harsh  music  such 
as  devils  might  dance  to, — and  without  taking  a 


WORMWOOD. 


245 


second’s  thought  about  it, — for  I could  not  think, — I 
twisted  the  bars  of  the  turnstile  violently  and  rushed 
in, — into  the  midst  of  hurly-burly  such  as  no  painter’s 
brush  has  ever  dared  devise, — a scene  that  could  not 
be  witnessed  anywhere  save  in  “ civilized  ” Paris.  In 
a long  salle , tawdry  with  bright  paint  and  common 
gilding,  whirled  a crowd  of  men  and  women  fantasti- 
cally attired  in  all  sorts  of  motley  costumes, — some  as 
clowns,  others  as  sheeted  corpses, — others  as  laun- 
dresses, fishermen,  sailors,  soldiers,  vivandi'eres, — here, 
was  a strutting  caricature  of  Boulanger, — there  an  ex- 
aggerated double  of  the  President  of  the  Republic — 
altogether  a wild  and  furious  crew,  shrieking,  howling, 
and  dancing  like  lunatics  just  escaped  from  detention. 
Some  few  wore  masks  and  dominos, — but  the  greater 
part  of  the  assemblage  were  unmasked, — and  my  en- 
trance, clad  merely  as  a plain  civilian  excited  no  sort 
of  notice.  I was  to  the  fuli  as  de  rigeur  for  such  am 
entertainment  as  any  one  else  present.  I flung  my- 
self into  the  midst  of  the  gesticulating,  gabbling  vortex 
of  people  with  a sense  of  pleasure  at  being  surrounded 
by  so  much  noise  and  movement, — here  not  a souli 
could  know  me, — here  no  unpleasant  thought  or  fanci- 
ful impression  would  have  time  to  write  itself  across 
my  brain, — here  it  was  better  than  being  in  a wilder- 
ness,— one  could  yell  and  scream  and  caper  with  the- 
rest  of  one’s  fellow-apes  and  be  as  merry  as  one  chose  ! 
I elbowed  my  way  along,  and  promised  an  officious, 
but  very  dirty  waiter  my  custom  presently,: — and  while 
I tried  to  urge  my  muddled  intelligence  into  a clearer 
comprehension  of  all  that  was  going  ^on,  the  crowd, 
suddenly  parted  asunder  with  laughter  and  shouts  of 
applause,  and  standing  back  in  closely  pressed  ranks, 
made  an  open  space  in  their  centre  for  the  approach 
of  two  women  discreetly  masked, — one  arrayed  in  very' 
short  black  gauze  skirts,  the  other  in  blood-red.  At- 
titudinizing for  a moment  in  that  theatrical  pose  which: 
all  dancers  assume  before  commencing  the  revolutions,, 
they  uttered  a peculiar  shout,  half  savage,  half  mirth- 
tul, — a ftoisy  burst  of  music  answered  them, — and  then,, 
with  an  indescribable  slide  forward  and  an  impudent 
bracing  of  the  arms  akimbo,  they  started  the  “ can- 
can p — which  though  immodest,  vile,  vulgar,  and  licen~ 


■244 


WORMWOOD . 


tious,  has  perhaps  more  power  to  inflame  the  passions 
«of  a Paris  mob  than  the  chanting  of  the  “ Marseillaise.  ” 
It  can  be  danced  in  various  ways  this  curious  fandango 
of  threatening  gesture  and  amorous  invitation, — and 
if  the  dancers  be  a couple  of  heavy  Paris  laundresses 
or petroleuses,  it  will  probably  be  rendered  so  ridiculously 
as  to  be  harmless.  But,  danced  by  women  with  lithe, 
strong,  sinuous  limbs — with  arms  that  twist  like  the 
bodies  of  snakes, — with  bosoms  that  seem  to  heave  with 
suppressed  rage  and  ferocity, — with  eyes  that  flash  hell- 
fire  through  the  black  eye-holes  of  a conspirator-like 
mask, — and  with  utter,  reckless,  audacious  disregard  of 
all  pretence  at  modesty, — its  effect  is  terrible,  enraging  ! 
— inciting  to  deeds  of  rapine,  pillage  and  slaughter ! 
And  why  ? Why,  in  Heaven’s  name,  should  a mere 
dance  make  men  mad  ? Why  ? — Mild  questioner,  who- 
ever you  are,  I cannot  answer  you  ! Why  are  men  made 
as  they  are  ? — will  you  tell  me  that  ? Why  does  an  Eng- 
lish Earl  marry  a music-hall  singer  ? He  has  seen  her  in 
tights, — he  has  heard  her  roar  forth  vulgar  ditties  to  the 
lowest  classes  of  the  public, — and  yet  he  has  been  known 
to  marry  her,  and  make  her  “ my  lady  ” — and  a peeress  of 
the  realm  ! Explain  to  me  this  incongruity, — and  I will 
explain  to  you  then  why  it  is  that  the  sight  of  the  “can- 
can ” danced  in  all  its  frankness,  turns  Parisian  men  for 
the  time  being  *into  screeching,  stamping  maniacs,  whom 
to  see,  to  hear,  to  realize  the  existence  of,  is  to  feel  that 
with  all  our  * culture/  we  are  removed  only  half  a step 
away  from  absolute  barbarism  ! On  me,  the  spectacle  of 
those  two  strong  women,  the  one  wearing  the  color  of 
the  grave,  the  other  the  color  of  blood,  acted  as  a sort 
of  exhilarating  charm, — and  I howled,  stamped,  shrieked, 
and  applauded  as  furiously  as  the  rest  of  the  onlookers. 
More  than  this,  when  the  dance  was  over,  I approached 
the  black  siren  and  besought  her  to  honor  me  with  her 
hand  in  a waltz — an  invitation  which  I accompanied  by  a 
whisper  in  her  ear — a whisper  that  had  in  it  the  chink  of 
base  coin  rather  than  the  silvery  ring  of  courtly  homage, 
— she  had  her  price  of  course,  like  all  the  women  there, 
and  that  price  I paid.  I whirled  her  several  times  round 
the  room — for  she  waltzed  well, — and  finally,  sitting 
down  by  her  side,  asked  her,  or  rather  I should  say  com- 
manded her,  as  I was  paymaster  for  the  evening,  to 


WORM  WOOD. 


24  S 


remove  her  mask.  She  did  so, — and  displayed  a hand- 
some coarse  visage, — badly  rouged  and  whitened  with, 
pearl  powder, — her  way  of  life  had  rendered  her  old  be- 
fore her  time, — but  the  youth  and  wickedness  in  her 
magnificent  eyes  made  amends  for  her  premature 
wrinkles. 

“ Tiens,  Madame  ! Comme  tu  es  laide  ! ” I said  with 
brusque  candor.  “ Mais  c’est  une  jolie  laideur  ! ” 

She  laughed  harshly. 

“ Oui ! je  suis  laide — je  le  sais  ! ” she  responded  indif- 
ferently. “ Que  veux-tu,  mon  jeune  farouche  ? Tai 
vecu  !” 

It  was  my  turn  to  laugh  now,  and  I did  so  uproariously. 
She  had  lived — she  ! She  thought  so,  in  all  good  faith, — 
she  believed  she  knew  life  inside  and  out  and  all  through. 
She  who  had  probably  never  opened  a noble  book  or 
looked  at  a fine  picture, — she,  who  would  certainly  have 
no  eyes  for  scenery  or  the  wonder  and  science  of  Nature, 
— she,  whose  experience  had  been  limited  to  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  most  despicable  side  of  despicable  men’s 
characters  ; — she  had  lived, ’ which  was  tantamount  to  say- 
ing that  she  comprehended  the  object  and  intention  of 
living  ! What  a fool  she  was ! — what  a shallow-brained 
fool ! — and  yet,  it  is  for  such  women  as  she  that  men 
occasionally  ruin  themselves  and  their  families.  The 
painted  successful  wanton  of  the  stage  never  lacks  dia- 
monds or  flowers, — the  honest  wife  and  mother  often 
lacks  bread  ! Such  is  the  world  and  the  life  of  the  world, 
— and  God  does  nothing  to  improve  it.  What  an  impas- 
sively dumb  spectator  of  things  He  is  in  His  vast,  clear 
empyrean  ! Why  does  He  not  “ rend  the  heavens  and 
come  down  ” — as  the  old  Psalmist  implored  Him  to  do, — 
then  we  should  understand, — we  should  not  have  to  wait 
for  death  to  teach  us.  And  the  question  is,  will  death 
teach  us?  Is  death  a silence,  or  ar^  overpoweringly  pre- 
cise explanation  ? Ah  ! — at  present,  not  knowing,  we 
laugh  at  the  idea, — but  it  is  a laugh  with  a shudder  in  it ! 

Well  ! I danced  again  and  yet  again  with  the  female 
fiend  who  had  “ lived,”  as  she  said, — I gave  her  cham- 
pagne, ices,  bonbons, — all  that  her  greedy  appetite  de- 
manded, and  I watched  her  with  a certain  vague  amuse- 
ment, as  she  ate  and  drank  and  laughed  and  jested,  while 
the  wine  flushed  her  cheeks  and  lent  an  extra  devilish 


246 


IVORAflVOOD. 


.sparkle  to  her  eyes.  Between  the  dances,  we  sat  together 
in  a sort  of  retired  alcove  adorned  with  soiled  hangings 
of  faded  crimson,  and  at  the  next  table  to  us,  in  a similar 
kind  of  compartment,  were  a clown  and  a harlequin, — the 
clown  a man,  the  harlequin  a woman.  These  two  were 
noisily  drunk — and  they  sang  scraps  of  song,  whistled 
and  screeched  alternately,  the  female  harlequin  sometimes 
beating  her  sword  of  lath  against  her  knees,  and  anon 
laying  it  with  a resonant  “ crack  ! ” across  her  grinning 
companion’s  shoulders.  Half  stupefied  myself,  and  too 
confused  in  mind  to  understand  even  my  own  actions, 
I stared  at  this  pair  of  fools  disporting  themselves  much 
as  I might  have  stared  at  a couple  of  dancing  bears  in  a 
menagerie — and  then  growing  suddenly  tired  of  their 
Tough  antics,  my  eyes  wandered  from  them  down  and 
across  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  salle , where  the  vari- 
colored crowd  still  twirled  and  flitted  and  swung  to  and 
fro,  like  a merry-go-round  of  puppets  at  a fair.  And  then 
I perceived  a new  figure  in  the  throng, — a stranger  in 
black,  who  looked  curiously  out  of  place  and  incongruous, 
so  I fancied, — and  I turned  to  my  siren  of  the  “ can-can,” 
^vho  with  both  her  muscular  white  arms  folded  on  the 
table,  was  staring  hard  at  me  with,  as  I thought,  an  ex- 
pression of  intense  inquisitiveness,  not  unmixed  with 
iear. 

“ Voila  !”  I said  laughing.  “ A priest  at  a bal  masque! 
Hoes  he  not  look  droll  ? See  what  temptations  these 
gentlemen  of  the  Church  yield  to  ! ” 

She  turned  her  black  eyes  in  the  direction  I indicated. 

“ What  priest  ? ” she  asked. — “ Where  ? ” 

“ There  ! ” 

And  I pointed  straight  before  me  into  the  salle , where  I 
plainly  saw  the  individual  I meant, — a man,  wearing  the 
closely  buttoned-up  clerical  black  garment  I had  learned 
to  abominate  so  heartily.  “ I do  not  see  him  ! ” she  said. 

No  real  priest  would  dare  to  come  here,  I fancy  ! Some 
•one  in  priest’s  clothes  perhaps — dressed  up  for  fun — yes  ! 
— that  is  very  likely.  A priest  is  always  ridiculous ! 
Bind  him,  and  I will  dance  with  him  ! ” 

I laughed  again,  and  flipped  her  on  the  bare  arm  that 
lay  nearest  to  me. 

“ You  will  be  a fool  if  you  do  ! ” I told  her  carelessly. 

He  will  have  no  money  for  you,  and  you  have  had 


WORMWOOD. 


24  7 

enough  champagne.  There  he  is  ! — there,  with  his  back 
turned  to  us  ! Don’t  you  see  him  now  ? ” & 

She  stared  and  stared, — then  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

“ No  ! ” 

A sudden  horrible  fear  froze  my  blood.  I sprang  up 
from  my  seat. 

“ Come  ! ” I said  hoarsely.  “ Come  ! — Quick  ! — Give 
me  another  dance  and  dance  your  best ! ” 

I snatched  her  round  the  waist,  and  whirled  her  into 
the  throng  with  so  much  celerity  and  violence  that  she 
nearly  lost  her  footing  and  fell — but  I cared  little  for 
that, — I plunged  madly  with  her  through  the  room  and 
straight  up  to  the  spot  where  that  priest  was  standing — 
standing  quite  still. 

“ Look, — look  ! ” I whispered,  “ You  can  see  him 
plainly  enough  ! — I told  you  he  was  a priest,  and  I was 
right  ! Look  ! — he  does  not  move  ! ” 

Under  her  rouge  her  face  grew  very  pale.  U0u  done  ? ir 
she  ^murmured  nervously.  “ Je  ne  vois  rie?i  ? ” 

Closer  and  closer  we  waltzed  towards  that  motionless 
shape  of  a man,  and  I saw  the  dark  outline  of  his  figure 
more  and  more  distinctly. 

“ You  can  touch  him  now  ! ” I said,  my  voice  shaking 
as  I spoke.  “ Your  dress  brushes  against  him  ! — what ! — ■ 
have  you  no  eyes  ! — Ah,  diable  ? ” — And  I uttered  a furi- 
ous cry  as  the  figure  turned  its  face  upon  me,  Silvion 
Guidll  again,  by  all  the  Furies  of  fact  or  fiction  ! — Silvion 
Guidel ! . . . And  this  time,  as  I looked,  he  moved  away 
rapidly,  and  began  to  slip  stealthily  through  the  crowd  ; — 
roughly  flinging  my  partner  from  me  I followed  fast, 
striking  out  right  and  left  with  my  two  hands  to  force  a 
passage  between  the  foolish  flocks  of  dancing  masquer- 
aders,— I heard  shrieks  of  terror  and  amazement, — shouts 
of  u II  est  fon  ! — il  est  fou  ! ” — but  I heeded  nothing — 
nothing  save  that  black  figure  gliding  swiftly  on  before 
me, — nothing  until  in  my  wild  headlong  rush  I was. 
stopped  by  the  sudden  consciousness  of  being  in  the 
fresh  air.  The  wind  blew  coldly  on  my  face, — I saw  the 
moonlight  falling  in  wide  patterns  around  me, — but — was. 
I alone  ? No  ! — for  Silvion  Guidel  stood  there  also,  by  the 
side  of  a great  tree  that  spread  its  huge  boughs  down- 
wards to  the  ground, — he  gazed  straight  at  me  with  wist- 
ful, beautiful,  impassioned  eyes, — but  no  smile  crossed. 


WORMWOOD . 


the  quiet  pallor  of  his  countenance.  He  looked — yes  ! — 
exactly  as  he  had  looked  before  I murdered  him  ! . . . 
Perhaps — perhaps,  I thought  vaguely — there  was  some 
mistake  ? — perhaps  I had  not  killed  him  after  all  ! he 
seemed  still  to  be  alive  ! 

“ Silvion  ! ” I whispered.  “ What  now  ? Silvion  ! ” 

A light  breeze  rustled  the  branches  overhead, — the 
moonbeams  appeared  to  gather  and  melt  into  a silvery 
sea — and  I sprang  forward,  resolvedly  intent  on  grasping 
that  substantial-looking  form  in  such  a manner  as  to  es- 
tablish for  myself  the  fact  of  its  actual  existence, — it  rose 
upward  from  my  touch  like  a cloud  of  ascending  smoke 
and  vanished  utterly  ! . . . while  I,  striking  my  forehead 
sharply  against  the  rough  trunk  of  the  tree  where  the  ac- 
cursed phantom  of  my  own  brain  had  confronted  me,  fell 
heavily  forward  on  the  ground,  stunned  and  insensible  ! 


WOXMIVOOD. 


249 


XXVI. 

I lay  there  in  a dead  stupor  for  some  hours,  but  I was 
roused  to  my  senses  at  last  by  the  ungentle  attentions  of 
a gendarme , who  grasped  and  shook  me  to  and  fro  as  if  I 
were  a bag  of  wheat. 

“ Leve-toi ! Get  up,  beast  ! ” he  growled,  his  rough 
provincial  xaccent  making  the  smooth  French  tongue 
sound  like  the  ugly  snarl  of  a savage  bull-dog.  “ Drunk 
at  nine  in  the  morning  ! A pretty  way  of  earning  the 
right  to  live  ! ” 

I struggled  to  my  feet  and  stared  haughtily  at  him. 

“ I am  a gentleman  ! ” I said.  “ Leave  me  alone  ! ” 

The  fellow  burst  out  laughing. 

“A  gentleman!  Truly,  that  is  easily  seen!  One  of 
the  old  aristocracy  doubtless  ! ” 

And  he  picked  up  my  hat, — it  was  entirely  battered  in 
on  one  side, — and  handed  it  to  me  with  a derisive  bow. 

I looked  at  him  as  steadily  as  I could,— everything 
seemed  to  flicker  and  dance  to  and  fro  before  my  eyes, 
— but  I remembered  I had  some  money  left  in  my  pock- 
ets. I searched, — and  drew  out  a piece  of  twenty 
francs. 

“ What  do  you  know  about  gentlemen  or  aristocrats  ? n 
I said.  “ Do  you  not  measure  them  all  by  this  ? ” — and 
I held  up  the  gold  coin — “ you  called  me  a beast, — what, 
a mistake  that  was  ! A drunken  beggar  is  a beast  if  you 
like,  but  a grand  seigneur  who  amuses  himself  ! ” here  I 
dropped  the  piece  into  his  quickly  outstretched  palm — 
u C'est  autre  chose , n est  ce pas , mon  ami  ? ” 

He  touched  his  hat, — and  the  laughter  was  all  on  my 
side  now  ! He  looked  such  a ridiculous  puppet  of  offi- 
cialism ! 

“ Mais  oui,  monsieur  ! — mais  oui!”  he  murmured  con- 
fusedly, pocketing  his  gold.  “ Mille pardons  ! . . . c'est  le 
devoir, — vous  le  saves  ....  enfin — monsieur , j ai  /’ honneur 
de  vous  saluer  /” 


WORMWOOD. 


*5° 

And  he  .aged  himself  away  with  as  much  dignity  as 
was  possible  in  the  very  undignified  position  he  occu- 
pied,— namely  that  of  taking  money  to  prove  a beast  a 
gentleman  ! His  first  exclamation  at  sight  of  me  was 
honest,  and  true , — my  condition  was  worse  than  bestial, 
for  beasts  never  fall  so  low  as  men, — and  he  knew  it  and 
I knew  it!  But  for  twenty  francs  he  could  be  made  to 
say, — “ Monsieur , fai  Vhonneur  de  vous  saluer  ” — Poor 
devil ! — Only  one  out  of  thousands  like  him  in  this  droll 
world  where  there  is  so  much  bombastic  prating  about 
Duty  and  Honor  ! 

Nine  o’clock  in  the  morning  1 So  late  as  that! — I 
looked  about  me,  and  realized  that  I was  close  to  the 
Champs  Elysees,  I could  not  imagine  how  I had  come 
there,  nor  could  I remember  precisely  where  I had  been 
during  the  past  night.  I was  aware  of  a deadly  sense  of 
sickness,  and  I was  very  unsteady  on  my  feet,  so  that  I 
was  obliged  to  walk  slowly.  My  hat  was  damaged  be- 
yond repair, — I put  it  on  as  it  was,  all  crushed  and 
beaten  in, — and  what  with  my  soiled  linen,  disordered 
garments  and  unkempt  hair,  I felt  that  my  appearance 
was  not,  on  this  fine  bright  morning  in  Paris,  altogether 
prepossessing.  But  what  did  I care  for  that  ? — Who  was 
to  see  me  ? — who  was  to  know  me  ? Humming  the  scrap 
of  a tune  under  my  breath  I sauntered  giddily  along, — 
but  the  horrible  sickness  upon  me  increased  with  every 
step  I took,  and  finally  I determined  to  sit  down  for  a 
while,  and  try  to  recover  a firmer  hold  of  my  physical 
faculties.  I staggered  blindly  towards  a bench  under  the 
trees,  and  almost  fell  upon  it,  thereby  knocking  heavily 
against  an  upright  dignified-looking  old  gentleman  who 
just  then  happened  to  cross  my  path,  and  to  whom  I 
feebly  muttered  a word  or  two  by  way  of  apology.  But 
the  loud  cry  he  gave  startled  me  into  a wide-awake  con- 
dition more  successfully  than  any  cold  douche  of  water 
could  have  done. 

“ Gaston  ! — My  God ! Gaston  ! ” 

I stared  stupidly  at  him  with  eyes  that  blinked  painfully 
in  the  spring  sunshine, — who  was  he,  this  tidy,  respect- 
able, elderly  personage  who,  pale  as  death,  regarded  me 
with  the  terror-stricken  air  of  one  who  sees  some  sudden 
spectral  prodigy  ? 

“ Gaston  ! ” he  cried  again. 


WORMWOOD. 


25* 

Ah ! — Of  course  ! I knew  him  now  ! My  father  ! 
Actually  my  father  !— who  would  have  thought  it ! I felt 
in  a dim  sort  of  way  that  I had  no  further  claim  to  re- 
lationship with  this  worthy  piece  of  honesty, — and  I 
laughed  drowsily  as  I made  a feeble  clutch  at  my  battered 
liat  and  pulled  it  off  to  salute  him. 

“ Pardieu  / ” I murmured.  “ This  is  an  unexpected 
meeting,  mon  pere  ? I rejoice  to  see  you  looking  so  well ! ” 
White  to  the  lips,  he  still  stood,  staring  at  me,  one  hand 
grasping  his  gold-headed  cane, — the  other  nervously 
clenching  and  unclenching  itself.  Had  I had  any  sense 
of  filial  compassion  or  decency  left,  which  I*had  not,  I 
should  have  understood  that  the  old  man  was  suffering 
acutely  from  such  a severe  shock  as  needed  all  his  physical 
courage  and  endurance  to  battle  against,  and  I should 
have  been  as  sorry  for  him  as  I ought ; but  in  the  con- 
dition I was,  I only  felt  a kind  of  grim  amusement  to 
think  what  a horrible  disappointment  I must  be  to  him  ! 
His  son  ! I!  I laughed  again  in  a stupid  sort  of  fashion, 
and  surveying  my  ill-used  hat  I remarked  airily — 

“ My  presence  in  Paris  must  be  a surprise  to  you,  sir? 
I suppose  you  thought  I was  in  Italy  ? ” 

He  paid  no  attention  to  my  words.  He  seemed  quite 
stunned.  Suddenly,  rousing  his  faculties,  as  it  were  by  a 
supreme  effort,  he  made  a stride  towards  me. 

“ Gaston  ! ” he  exclaimed  sharply,  “ what  does  this 
mean  ? Why  are  you  here  ? What  has  happened  to  you  ? 
Why  have  you  never  written  to  me  ? — what  is  the  reason 
of  this  disgraceful  plight  in  which  I find  you  ? Mon  Dieu! 
— what  have  I done  to  deserve  this  shame  ? ” 

His  voice  shook, — and  his  wrath  seemed  close  upon 
the  verge  of  tears. 

“ What  have  you  done,  mon  pere  ? — why,  nothing  ! ” I 
responded  tranquilly.  “Nothing,  I assure  you!  And 
why  talk  of  shame  ? No  shame  attaches  to  you  in  the 
very  least ! Pray  do  not  distress  yourself  ! You  ask  me 
a great  many  questions, — and  as  I am  not  particularly  well 
this  morning ” 

His  face  softened  and  changed  in  an  instant,  and  he 
advanced  another  step  or  two  hurriedly. 

“Ah  ! — you  are  ill  ! — you  have  been  suffering  and  have 
never  told  me  of  it,”  he  said,  with  a sort  of  eager  relief 
and  solicitude.  “ Is  it  indeed  so,  my  poor  Gaston  ? — why 


WORMWOOD. 


252 

then  forgive  my  hastiness  ! — here, — lean  on  my  arm  and 
let  me  take  you  home  ! ” 

A great  lump  rose  in  my  throat, — what  a good  simple 
©Id  fellow  he-  was, — this  far-away  half-forgotten  individual 
to  whom  I dimly  understood  I owed  my  being  ! He  was 
ready  to  offer  me  his  arm, — he,  the  cleanly  respectable 
honorable  banker  whose  methodical  regularity  of  habits 
and  almost  fastidious  punctilio  were  known  to  all  his 
friends  and  acquaintance, — he  would, — if  I had  made  ill- 
ness my  sole  excuse, — he  would  have  actually  escorted  my 
draggled,  dirty,  slouching  figure  through  the  streets  with 
more  than  the  tenderness  of  the  Good  Samaritan  ! I ! — a 
murderer  ? — I smiled, — his  simplicity  was  too  sincere  to 
merit  any  further  deception  from  me. 

“You  mistake  ! ” I said,  speaking  harshly  and  with 
difficulty.  “ I am  not  ill, — not  with  the  sort  of  illness  that 
you  or  any  one  else  could  cure.  I’ve  been  up  all  night, — 
dancing  all  night, — drunk  all  night, — going  to  the  devil 
all  night ! — ah  ! that  surprises  you,  does  it  ? Etifin  ! — I do 
not  see  why  you  should  be  surprised! — On  va  avec  son 
stecle!  ” 

He  retreated  from  me,  and  a frown  of  deepening  in- 
dignation and  scorn  darkened  his  fine  features. 

“ If  this  is  a jest,”  he  said  sternly,  “ it  is  a poor  one 
and  in  very  bad  taste  ! Perhaps  you  will  condescend  to 
explain ” 

“ Oh,  certainly  ! ” and  I passed  my  hand  in  and  out  my 
Tough  uncombed  hair — “ Voyons ! where  shall  I begin  ? 
Xet  me  consider  your  questions.  Imprimis, — what  does 
this  mean  ? Well,  it  means  that  the  majority  of  men  are 
beasts  and  the  minority  respectable  ; — needless  to  add 
that  I belong  to  the  majority.  It  is  the  strongest  side, 
you  know  ! — it  always  wins  ! Next, — why  am  I here  ? I 
really  can’t  tell  you — I forget  what  I did  last  night,  and, 
as  a natural  consequence,  my  wits  have  gone  wool-gather- 
ing this  morning.  As  for  being  still  in  Paris  itself  instead 
©f  running  away  to  other  less  interesting  parts  of  Europe, 
I really,  on  consideration,  saw  no  reason  why  I should 
leave  it — so  in  Paris  I stayed.  One  can  lose  one’s  self  in 
Paris  quite  as  easily  as  in  a wilderness.  I have  kept 
out  of  your  way,  and  I have  not  intruded  my  objection- 
able presence  upon  any  one  of  our  mutual  friends.  I did 
not  write  to  you,  because — well ! — because  I imagined  it 


WORMWOOD. 


253 


was  better  for  you  to  try  and  forget  me.  To  finish — you 
ask  what  has  happened  to  me, — and  what  the  reason  is  of 
this  my  present  condition.  I have  taken  to  a new  pro- 
fession— that  is  all ! ” 

“ A new  profession  ! ” echoed  my  father  blankly.  “ What 
profession  ? ” 

I looked  at  him  steadfastly,  dimly  pitying  him,  yet  feel- 
ing no  inclination  to  spare  him  the  final  blow. 

“ Oh,  a common  one  among  men  in  Paris  ! ” I re- 
sponded with  forced  lightness — “ well  known,  well  ap- 
preciated,— well  paid  too  albeit  in  strange  coin.  And 
perhaps  the  best  part  of  it  is,  that  once  you  adopt  it  you 
can  never  leave  it, — it  does  not  allow  for  any  caprice  or 
change  of  humor.  You  enter  it, — and  there  you  are  ! — ait 
idee  fixe  in  its  brain  ! ” 

The  old  man  drew  himself  up  a little  more  stiffly  erect 
and  eyed  me  with  an  indignant  yet  sorrowful  wonder. 

“ I do  not  understand  you,”  he  said  curtly.  “ To  me 
you  seem  foolish, — drunk, — disgraced  ! I cannot  believe 
you  are  my  son  ! ” 

“ I am  not ! ” I replied  calmly.  “ Do  not  recognize  me 
as  such  any  longer  ! In  the  way  I have  chosen  to  live 
one  cuts  all  the  ties  of  mere  relationship.  I should  be  no 
use  to  you, — nor  would  you — pardon  me  for  saying  so  ! — 
be  any  use  to  me  ! What  should  I do  with  a home  or 
home  associations  ? — I, — an  absintheur  /” 

As  the  word  left  my  lips,  he  seemed  to  stagger  and  sway 
forward  a little, — I thought  he  would  have  fallen,  and  in- 
voluntarily I made  a hasty  movement  to  assist  him  ; — but 
he  waved  me  back  with  a feeble  yet  eloquent  gesture, — 
his  eyes  flashed, — his  whole  form  seemed  to  dilate  with 
the  passion  of  his  wrath  and  pain. 

“Back!  Do  not  touch  me!”  he  said  in  low  fierce 
accents.  “ How  dare  you  face  me  with  such  an  hideous 
avowal!  An  absintheur  1 You!  What!  You,  my  son, 
a confessed  slave  to  that  abominable  vice  that  not  only 
makes  of  its  votaries  cowards  but  madmen  ? My  God  ! 
Would  you  had  died  as  a child, — would  I had  laid 
you  in  the  grave,  a little  innocent  lad  as  I remember 
you,  than  have  lived  to  see  you  come  to  this ! An 
i absintheur  ! In  that  one  word  is  comprised  all  the  worst 
possibilities  of  crime ! Why — why  in  Heaven’s  name 
have  you  fallen  so  low  ? ” 


2£4 


WORM  WOOD. 


“Low?’’ I repeated.  “ You  think  it  low?  Well, — 
that  is  droll ! Is  it  more  low  for  example  than  a woman’s 
infidelity  ? — a man’s  treachery  ? Have  I not  suffered,  and 
shall  I not  be  comforted  ? Some  people  solace  themselves 
by  doing  their  duty,  and  sacrificing  their  lives  for  a cause 
— for  an  idea ; — and  sorry  recompense  they  win  for  it  in 
the  end  ! Now,  I prefer  to  please  myself  in  my  own  fash- 
ion— the  fashion  of  absinthe . I am  perfectly  happy, — why 
trouble  about  me  ? u 

His  eyes  met  mine, — the  brave  honest  eyes  that  had 
never  known  how  to  play  a treachery, — and  the  look  of 
unspeakable  reproach  in  them  went  to  my  very  heart. 
.But  I gave  no  outward  sign  of  feeling. 

u Is  this  all  you  have  to  say  ? ” he  asked  at  last. 
u All ! ” I echoed  carelessly.  “ Is  it  not  enough  ? ” 

He  waited  as  if  to  gather  force  for  his  next  utterance, 
— and  when  he  spoke  again,  his  voice  was  sharp  and  re- 
sonant, almost  metallic  in  its  measured  distinctness. 

“ Enough,  certainly  ! ” he  said.  “ And  more  than 
enough  ! Enough  to  convince  me  without  further  argu- 
ment, that  I have  no  longer  a son.  My  son, — the  son  I 
loved  and  knew  as  both  child  and  man,. is  dead, — and  I do 
not  recognize  the  fiend  that  has  arisen  to  confront  me  in 
his  disfigured  likeness!  You — you  were  once  Gaston 
Beauvais, — a gentleman  in  name  and  position, — you,  who 
now  avow  yourself  an  absintheur,  and  take  pride  in  the 
disgraceful  confession  ! 'My  God  ! — I think  I could  have 
pardoned  you  anything  but  this, — any  crime  would  have 
seemed  light  in  comparison  with  this  wilful  debauchery  of 
both  intelligence  and  conscience,  without  which  no  man 
has  manhood  worthy  of  the  name  ! ” 

I peered  lazily  at  him  from  between  my  half-closed  eye- 
lids. He  had  really  a very  distinguished  air  ! — he  was 
altogether  such  a noble-looking  old  man  ! 

u Good  ! ” I murmured  affably.  “ Very  good  ! Very  well 
said  ! Platitudes  of  course, — yet  admirably  expressed  ! ” 
His  face  flushed, — he  grasped  his  stick  convulsively. 

“ By  Heaven  ! ” he  muttered,  “ I am  tempted  to  strike 
you ! ” 

“ Do  not ! ” I answered,  smiling  a little — “ you  would 
soil  that  handsome  cane  of  yours,  and  possibly  hurt  your 
hand.  I really  am  not  worth  the  risk  of  these  two  contin- 


WORMWOOD . 


*55 

He  gazed  at  me  in  blank  amazement 

“ Are  you  mad  ? ” he  cried. 

“ I don’t  think  so,”  I responded  quietly.  “ I don’t  feel 
so  ! On  the  contrary,  I feel  perfectly  sane,  tranquil,  and 
comfortable  ! It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  the  madman 
in  this  case,  mon  pere ! — forgive  me  for  the  brusquerie  of 
the  observation  ! ” 

“ I ! ” he  echoed  with  a stupefied  stare. 

“ Yes — you  ! You  who  expect  of  men  what  is  not  in 
them, — you,  who  would  have  us  all  virtuous  and  respect- 
able in  order  to  win  the  world’s  good  opinion.  The 
world’s  good  opinion ! pshaw ! Who,  knowing  how  the 
world  forms  its  opinion,  cares  a jot,  for  that  opinion  when 
it  is  formed  ? Net  I ! I have  created  a world  of  my  own, 
where  I am  sole  law-giver, — and  the  code  of  morality  1 
practice  is  au  fond  precisely  the  same  as  is  followed  under 
different  auspices  throughout  society  ; namely  : I please 
myself ! — which,  after  all,  is  the  chief  object  of  each  man’s 
existence.” 

Thus  I rambled  on  half  incoherently,  indifferent  as  to 
whether  my  father  stayed  to  listen  to  me  or  went  away  in 
disgust.  He  had  however  now  regained  all  his  ordinary 
composure,  and  he  held  up  his  hand  with  an  authoritative 
gesture. 

“ Silence  ! ” he  said.  “ You  shame  the  very  air  you 
breathe ! Listen  to  me, — understand  well  what  I say, — 
and  answer  plainly  if  you  can.  You  tell  me  you  have 
become  an  absintheur,—<\ o you  know  what  that  means  ? ” 

“ I believe  I do,”  I replied  indifferently.  “ It  means, 
in  the  end, — death.” 

“ Oh,  if  it  meant  only  death ! ” he  exclaimed  passion- 
ately. “ If  it  meant  only  the  common  fate  that  in  due 
time  comes  to  us  all ! But  it  means  more  than  this — it 
means  crime  of  the  most  revolting  character, — it  means 
brutality,  cruelty,  apathy,  sensuality,  and  mania  1 Have 
you  realized  the  doom  you  create  for  yourself,  or  havQ 
you  never  thought  thus  far  ? ” 

I gave  a gesture  of  weariness. 

“ Mon  pere , you  excite  yourself  quite  unnecessarily  ! I 
have  thought,  till  I am  tired  of  thinking, — I have  conned 
over  all  the  problems  of  life  till  I am  sick  of  the  useless 
study.  What  is  the  good  of  it  all?  For  example, — yoa 
are  a banker, — I was  your  partner  in  business  (you  see 


WORMWOOD. 


356 

I use  the  past  tense  though  you  have  not  formally  dis- 
missed me) ; now  what  a trouble  and  worry  it  is  to  con- 
sume one’s  days  in  looking  after  other  people’s  money  \ 
To  consider  another  profession, — the  hackneyed  one  of 
fighting  for  ‘ La  Patrie.’  What  does  ‘ La  Patrie’  care  for 
all  the  blood  shed  01  her  battle-fields  ? She  is  such  a 
droll  ‘ Patrie  ! ’ — one  week,  she  shrieks  out  6 Alsace-Lor- 
raine! En  revanche /’ — the  next,  she  talks  calmly  through 
her  printing-presses  of  making  friends  with  Germany,  and 
even  condescends  to  flatter  the  new  German  Emperor  1 
In  such  a state  of  things,  who  would  endure  the  toil  and 
moil  of  military  service,  when  one  could  sit  idle  all  day  in 
a cafe,  drinking  absinthe  comfortably  instead  ! Ah,  bah  l 
Do  not  look  so  indignant, — the  days  of  romance  are  over, 
sir ! — we  want  to  do  as  we  like  with  our  lives, — not  to  be 
coerced  into  wasting  them  on  vain  dreams  of  either  virtue 
or  glory ! ” 

My  father  heard  me  in  perfect  silence.  When  I had 
finished  speaking — 

“ That  is  your  answer  ? ” he  demanded. 

“Answer  to  what?  Oh,  as  to  whether  I undei stand 
the  meaning  of  being  an  absintheur . Yes ! — that  is  my 
answer, — I am  quite  happy  ! — and  even  suppose  I da 
become  a maniac  as  you  so  amiably  suggest,  I have  heard 
that  maniacs  are  really  very  enviable  sort  of  people.  They 
imagine  themselves  to  be  kings,  emperors,  popes,  and 
what  not,— it  is  just  as  agreeable  an  existence  as  any 
other,  I should  imagine  ! ” 

“ Enough  ! ” and  my  father  fixed  his  eyes  upon  me  with 
such  a coldness  of  unutterable  scorn  in  them,  as  for  the 
moment  gave  me  a dim  sense  of  shame, — “ I want  to  hear  no 
more  special  pleadings  for  the  most  degrading  and  loath- 
some vice  of  this  our  city  and  age.  No  more,  I tell  you  I 
— not  a word  i What  I have  to  say  you  will  do  well  to 
remember,  and  think  of  as  often  as  your  besotted  brain 
can  think  ! First,  then,  in  the  life  you  have  elected  to- 
lead,  you  will  cease  to  bear  my  name.” 

I bowed,  smilingly  serenely. 

“ Ca  vasans  dire!  I have  already  ceased  to  bear  it,”  I 
answered  him.  “ Your  honor  is  safe  with  me,  sir,  I assure 
you,  though  I care  nothing  for  my  own ! ” 

He  went  on  as  though  he  had  not  heard  me. 

u You  will  no  longer  have  any  connection  with  the  Bank* 


worm  wo  on.  255f 

— nor  any  share  in  its  concerns.  I shall  take  in  your 
place  as  my  partner  your  cousin  Emil  Versoix.” 

I bowed  again.  Emil  Versoix  was  my  father’s  sister’s 
son,  a bright  young  fellow  of  about  my  own  age ; what  an 
opening  for  him,  I thought ! — and  how  proud  he  would  be 
to  get  the  position  I had  voluntarily  resigned  ! 

44 1 shall  send  you,”  continued  my  father,  44  whatever 
sums  are  belonging  to  you  on  account  of  your  past  work 
and  share  with  me  in  business.  That,  and  no  more. 
When  that  is  spent,  live  as  you  can,  but  do  not  come  to 
me,— our  relationship  must  be  now  a thing  dissolved  and 
broken  forever.  From  this  day  henceforth  I disown  you, 
— for  I know  that  the  hideous  vice  you  pander  to,  allows 
for  no  future  repentance  or  redemption.  I had  a son  ! ” 
— and  his  voice  quivered  a little, — “a  son  of  whom  I was 
too  fondly,  foolishly  proud, — but  he  is  lost  to  me, — lost  as 
utterly  as  the  unhappy  Pauline,  or  her  no  less  unhappy 
lover,  Silvion  Guidel.” 

I started  and  a tremor  ran  through  me. 

44  Lost ! — Silvion  Guidel  ! ” I stammered — 44  How  ! — . 
lost , did  you  say  ? ” 

44  Aye,  lost ! ” repeated  my  father  in  melancholy  accents 
— 44  If  you  have  not  heard,  hear  now, — for  it  is  you  who 
caused  the  mischief  done  to  be  simply  irreparable  ! Your 
quondam  friend,  made  priest,  was  sent  to  Rome, — and 
from  Rome  he  has  disappeared, — gone,  no  one  knows 
where.  All  possible  search  has  been  made, — ail  possible 
inquiry, — but  in  vain,— and  his  parents  are  mad  with  grief 
and  desolation.  Like  the  poor  child  Pauline,  he  has  van- 
ished, leaving  no  trace, — and  though  pity  and  forgiveness 
would  await  them  both  were  they  to  return  to  their  homes, 
as  yet  no  sign  has  been  obtained  of  either.” 

44  They  are  probably  together  ! ” I said,  with  a sudden 
fierce  laugh.  44  In  some  sequestered  nook  of  the  world, 
loving  as  lowers  should,  and  mocking  the  grief  of  those 
they  wronged  ! ” 

With  an  impetuous  movement  my  father  raised  his  cane, 
— and  I certainly  thought  that  this  time  he  would  have 
struck  me, — but  he  restrained  himself. 

44  Oh  callous  devil  !”  he  cried  wrathfully — 44  is  it  pos- 
sible  ” 

44  Is  what  possible  ? ” I demanded,  my  rage  also  rising  in 
a tumult.  44  Nay,  is  it  possible  you  can  speak  of  4 pity  and 

, 


WORMWOOD. 


258 

forgiveness’  for  those  two  guilty  fools  ? Pity  and  forgive-^ 
ness ! — the  prodigal  son  with  the  prodigal  daughter  wel- 
come back,  and  the  fatted  calf  killed  to  do  them  honor ! 
Bah  ! What  fine  false  sentiment ! I — I”— and  I struck 
my  breast  angrily — “ I was  and  am  the  principal  sufferer  ! 
— but  see  you  ! — because  I win  consolation  in  a way  that 
harms  no  one  but  myself, — I am  disinherited — I am  dis- 
owned— /am  cast  out  and  spurned  at, — while  she,  Pauline 
the  wanton,  and  he,  Guidel,  the  seducer,  are  being  searched, 
for  tenderly,  high  and  low,  to  be  brought  back  when  found 
to  peace  and  pardon!  Oh,  the  strange  justice  of  the 
world  ! Enough  of  all  this, — go  ! — go,  you  who  were  my 
father  ! — go  ! why  should  we  exchange  more  words  ? You 
have  chosen  your  path, — I mine!  and  you  may  depend 
upon  it,  the  much  admired  and  regretted  Silvion  Guidel 
has  chosen  his!  Go! — why  do  you  stand  there  staring 
at  me  ? ” 

For  I had  risen,  and  confronted  him  boldly, — he  seemed 
nothing  more  to  me  now  than  a man  grown  foolish  in  his 
old  age  and  unable  to  distinguish  wrong  from  right.  No 
one  was  near  us, — we  stood  in  a sequestered  corner  of  the 
Champs  Elysees,  and  from  the  broader  avenues  came 
ringing  between-whiles  the  laughter  and  chatter  of  chil- 
dren at  play.  He, — my  father— looked  at  me  with  the 
strained  startled  gaze  of  a brave  man  wounded  to  the 
death. 

“ Can  sorrow  change  you  thus  ? ” he  said  slowly.  “ Are 
you  so  much  of  a moral  coward  that  you  will  allow  a 
mere  love-disappointment  in  youth  to  blight  and  wither 
to  nothingness  your  whole  career  ? Are  you  not  man 
enough  to  live  it  down  ? ” 

“ I am  living  it  down,”  I responded  harshly.  “ But,  in 
my  own  way ! I am  forgetting  the  world  and  its  smug 
hypocrisies  and  canting  mockery  of  virtue  ! I am  ceasing 
to  care  whether  women  are  faithful  or  men  honorable, — - 
I know  they  are  neither,  and  I no  longer  expect  it.  I am 
killing  my  illusions  one  by  one  ! When  a noble  thought, 
or  a fine  idea  presents  itself  to  me  (which  is  but  seldom  !), 

I spring  at  its  throat  and  strangle  it,  before  it  has  time  to 
breathe  ! P or  I an?  aware  that  noble  thoughts  or  fine  ideas 
are  the  laughing-stock  of  this  century,  and  that  the  stupid 
dreamers  who  indulge  in  them  arc  made  the  duj:»es  of  th* 
age  ! You  look  startled  ! — well  you  may  ! — to  you,  wton 


WORMWOOD. 


259 


fiere,  I am  dangerous,— for — I loved  you  ! and  what  I 
once  loved  is  now  become  a mere  reproach  to  me, — a 
blackness  on  my  horizon- — an  obstruction  in  my  path — so, 
keep  out  of  my  way,  if  you  are  wise  1 I promise  to  keep 
out  of  yours.  The  money  you  offer  me  I will  not  have, — 
I will  beg,  steal,  starve, — anything,  rather  than  take  one 
centime  from  you,  even  though  it  be  my  right  to  claim  the 
residue  of  what  I earned.  You  shall  see  my  face  no 
more, — I will  die  and  make  no  sign — to  you  I am  dead 
already — let  me  be  forgotten  then  as  the  dead  always  are 
forgotten — in  spite  of  the  monuments  raised  to  their 
memory. 

He  gave  a despairing  gesture. 

“ Gaston  ! ” he  cried.  44  You  kill  me  ! ” 

I surveyed  him  tranquilly. 

44  Not  so,  mon  pere — I kill  myself, — not  you  ! You  will 
live  many  years  yet,  in  peace  and  safety  and  good  repute 
among  men, — and  you  will  easily  console  yourself  for  the 
son  you  have  lost  in  new  ties  and  new  surroundings.  For 
you  are  not  a coward, — I am  ! I am  afraid  of  the  very 
life  that  throbs  within  me, — it  is  too  keen  and  devilish — 
it  is  like  a sharp  sword-blade  that  eats  through  its  scabbard, 
— I do  my  best  to  blunt  its  edge  ! Blame  me  no  more, — 
think  of  me  no  more, — I am  not  worth  a single  regret,  and 
I do  not  seek  to  be  regretted.  I loved  you  once,  mon 
pere , as  I told  you — but  now,  if  I saw  much  of  you, — of 
your  independent  air,  your  proud  step,  your  sincere 
eyes — I dare  say,  I should  hate  you  ! — for  I hate  all  things 
honest  ! It  is  part  of  my  new  profession  to  do  so  ” — and 
I laughed  wildly — 44  Honesty  is  a mortal  affront  to  an 
absintheur  ! — did  you  not  know  that  ? However,  though 
the  offence  is  great,  I will  not  fight  you  for  it — we  will  part 
friends!  Adieu!” 

I held  out  my  hand.  He  looked  at  it, — but  did  not 
touch  it,— but  deliberately  put  his  cane  behind  his  back, 
and  folded  his  owp.  two  hands  across  it.  His  face  was 
paler  than  before  and  his  lips  were  set.  His  glance 
swept  over  me  with  unutterable  reproach  and  scorn, — I 
smiled  at  his  expression  of  dignified  disgust, — and  as  I 
smiled,  he  turned  away. 

44  Adieu , mon  pere!  ” I said  again. 

He  gave  no  word  or  sign  in  answer,  but  with  a slow, 
quiet,  composed  step  paced  onward, — his  head  erect, — his 


26o 


WORMWOOD. 


shoulders  squared, — his  whole  manner  as  irreproachable 
as  ever.  No  one  could  have  thought  he  carried  worse 
than  a bullet-wound  in  his  heart ! I knew  it — but  I did 
not  care.  I watched  his  tall  figure  disappear  through  the 
arching  foliage  of  the  trees  without  regret, — without 
remorse — indeed  with  rather  a sense  of  relief  than  other- 
wise. He  was  the  best  friend  I ever  had  or  should  have 
in  the  world — this  I realized  plainly  enough — but  the 
very  remembrance  of  his  virtues  bored  me  ! It  was  tire- 
some to  think  of  him, — and  it  was  better  to  lose  him,  for 
the  infinitely  more  precious  sake  of— Absinthe  ! 


WORMWOOD. 


261 


XXVII. 

I passed  the  rest  of  that  day  in  a strange  sort  of  semi- 
somnolence,— a state  of  stupid  dull  indifferentism  as  to 
what  next  should  happen  to  me.  I cannot  say  that  I 
even  thought, — for  the  powers  of  thinking  in  me  were 
curiously  inert,  almost  paralyzed*  The  interview  I had^ 
had  with  my  father  faded  away  into  a sort  of  pale  and 
blurred  remembrance — it  seemed  to  have  taken  place 
years  ago  instead  of  hours.  That  is  one  of  the  special 
charms  of  the  Absinthe-fur ia  ; it  makes  a confused  chaos 
of  all  impressions,  so  that  it  is  frequently  impossible  to 
distinguish  between  one  event  occurring  long  ago  and 
one  that  has  happened  quite  recently.  True,  there  are 
times  when  certain  faces  and  certain  scenes  dart  out 
vividly  from  this  semi-obscure  neutrality  of  color,  and 
take  such  startling  shape  and  movement  as  to  almost  dis- 
tract the  brain  they  haunt  and  intimidate, — but  these 
alarms  to  the  seat  of  reason  are  not  frequent, — at  least, 
not  at  first.  Afterwards — — But  why  should  I offer  you 
too  close  an  explanation  of  these  subtle  problems  of 
mind-attack  and  overwhelm ment  ? I tell  you  my  own  ex- 
perience ; — you  can,  and  I dare  say  you  will,  pooh-pooh 
it  as  an  impossible  one, — the  mere  distraught  fancy  of  an 
excited  imagination, — but, — if  you  would  find  out  and 
prove  how  truly  I am  dissecting  my  own  heart  and  soul 
for  your  benefit,  why  take  to  Absinthe  yourself  and  see  ! — 
and  describe  the  result  thereafter  more  coherently  than  I 
— if  you  can  ! 

All  day  long,  as  I have  said,  I roamed  about  Paris  in  a 
dream, — a dream  wherein  hazy  reflections,  dubious  won- 
derments, vague  speculations,  hovered  to  and  fro  without 
my  clearly  perceiving  their  drift  or  meaning.  I laughed 
a little  as  I tried  to  imagine  what  my  father  would  have 
said,  had  he  known  what  had  truly  become  of  Silvion 
Guid&i  ! If  he  could  have  guessed  that  I had  murdered 


?62 


WORMWOOD . 


him ! What  would  he  have  done,  I wondered  ? Prob- 
ably he  would  have  given  me  up  to  the  police  ; — he  had 
a frightfully  strained  idea  of  honor,  and  he  would  never 
have  been  brought  to  see  the  justice  of  my  crime  as  I 
did  ! It  amused  me  to  think  of  those  stupid  Breton  folk 
searching  everywhere  for  their  “ Men  aime  Siivion  ; ” and 
making  every  sort  of  inquiry  «bout  him,  when  all  the 
while  he  was  lying  in  the  common  fosse , festering  away 
to  nothingness  ! Yes  ! — he  was  nothing  now, — he  was 
dead — quite  dead, — and  yet,  I could  not  disabuse  myself 
of  the  impression  that  he  was  still  alive  ! My  nerves 
were  in  that  sort  of  condition  that  at  any  moment  I ex- 
pected to  see  him, — it  seemed  quite  likely  that  he  might 
meet  me  at  any  corner  of  any  street.  This  circumstance 
and  others  similar  to  it,  make  me  at  times  doubtful  as  to 
whether  Death  is  really  the  conclusion  of  things  the  posi- 
tivists tell  us  it  is.  True,  the  body  dies — but  there  is 
something  in  us  more  than  body.  And  how  is  it  that 
when  we  look  at  the  corpse  of  one  whom  we  knew  and 
loved,  we  always  feel  that  the  actual  being  who  held  our 
affections  is  no  longer  there  ? If  not  there,  then — where  ? 
Siivion  Guidel  for  instance  was  everywhere, — or  so  I felt, 
— instead  of  being  got  rid  of  as  I had  hoped,  he  seemed 
to  follow  me  about  in  a strange  and  very  persistent  way, 
— so  that  when  he  was  not  actually  visible  in  spectral 
ahpe,  he  was  almost  palpable  in  invisibility.  This  im- 
pression was  so  pronounced  with  me,  that  it  is  possible, 
had  Ibeen  taken  unawares  and  asked  some  sudden  ques- 
tion as  to  GuidePs  whereabouts,  I should  have  answered. 
“ He  was  with  me  here,  just  a minute  ago  ! ” 

And  yet — I had  killed  him  ! I knew  this, — knew  it 
positively, — and  knowing,  still  vaguely  refused  to  believe 
it!  Everything  was  misty  and  indefinite  with  me, — 
and  the  interview  I had  just  had  with  my  father  soon  be- 
came a part  of  the  shadowy  chiaroscuro  of  events  uncer- 
tain and  nameless  of  which  I had  no  absolutely  distinct 
memory. 

I stared  into  many  shops  that  afternoon,  and  went  into 
some  of  them,  asking  the  prices  of  things  I had  no  inten- 
tion of  buying.  I took  a sort  of  fantastic  pleasure  in 
turning  over  various  costly  trifles  of  feminine  adornment, 
such  as  bracelets,  necklets,  dangling  chatelaines,  and  use- 
less fripperies  of  all  possible  design, — things  that  catch 


WOjRMWOOB. 


263 


the  eye  and  charm  the  soul  of  almost  every  simpering 
daughter  of  Eve  that  clicks  her  high  Louis  Quinze  heels 
along  the  asphalte  of  our  Lutetian  pavements  and  avenues. 
Why  was  it,  I mused,  that  Pauline  de  Charmilles  had  not 
been  quite  like  the  rest  of  her  sex  in  such  matters  ? I 
had  given  her  costly  gifts  in  abundance, — but  she  had 
preferred  the  fire  of  Silvion’s  passionate  glance ; and  his 
kiss  had  outweighed  in  her  mind  any  trinket  of  flawless 
pearl  or  glistening  diamond ! Strange  ! — Yet  she  was  the 
child  who  laughed  up  in  my  eyes  the  first  night  I met  her, 
and  had  talked  in  foolish  school-girl  fashion  of  her  favo- 
rite “ marrons  glads  ” ! Heavens  ! — what  odd  material 
women  are  made  of  ! Then,  one  would  have  thought  a 
box  of  bon-bons  sufficient  to  give  her  supremest  delight, — a 
string  of  gems  would  surely  have  sent  her  into  an  ecstasy  ! 
— and  yet  this  dimpling,  babyish,  frivolous,  prattling 
feminine  thing  had  dared  the  fatal  plunge  into  the  ocean 
of  passion, — and  there, — sinking,  struggling,  dying, — lost, 
— with  fevered  pulses  and  parched  lips, — still  clung  to  the 
frail  spar  of  her  own  self-centred  hope  and  drifted, — con- 
tent to  perish  so,  thirsting,  starving,  under  the  cruel  stars 
of  human  destiny  that  make  too  much  love  a curse  to 
lovers, — yes ! — actually  content  to  perish  so, — proud,  thank- 
ful, even  boastful  to  perish  so,  because  such  death  was 
for  Love’s  sweet-bitter  sake  ! It  was  remarkable  to  find 
such  a phase  of  character  in  a creature  as  young  as  Pau- 
line ; or  so  I thought,— and  I wondered  dimly  whether  / 
had  loved  her  as  much  as  she  had  loved  Guidel.  No 
sooner  did  I begin  to  meditate  on  this  subject  than  I 
felt  that  cold  and  creeping  thrill  of  brain-horror  which  I 
know  no w (for  it  comes  often  and  I fight  as  well  as  I 
can  against  it)  to  be  the  hint, — the  far  forewarning  of 
madness, — wild,  shrieking,  untameable  madness  such  as 
makes  the  strongest  keepers  of  maniac-men  recoil  and 
cower  ! I tell  you,  doubt  it  as  you  will,  that  my  love  for 
Pauline  de  Charmilles — the  silly  child  who  tortured  and 
betrayed  me, — was  immeasurably  greater  than  I myself 
had  deemed  it, — and  I dare  not  even  now  dwell  too  long 
on  its  remembrance  ! I loved  her  as  men  love  who  are 
not  ashamed  of  loving, — every  soft  curl  of  hair  on  her 
head  was  precious  to  me, — once! — and  as  I thought  upon 
it,  it  drove  me  into  a paroxysm  of  impotent  ferocity  to  re- 
call what  1 had  lost, — how  I had  been  tricked  and  fooled 


264 


WORMWOOD . 


and  mocked  and  robbed  of  all  life’s  dearest  joys ! At 
one  time,  as  I wandered  aimlessly  about  the  streets,  I had 
a vague  idea  of  setting  myself  steadily  to  track  out  the 
lost  girl  by  some  practical  detective  method, — of  finding 
her,  probably  in  a state  of  dire  poverty  and  need, — and  of 
forcing  her  still  to  be  mine, — but  this,  like  all  other  plans 
or  suggestions  of  plans,  lacked  clearness  or  certainty  in 
my  brain,  and  I merely  played  with  it  in  my  fancy  as  a 
thing  that  possibly  might  and  still  more  possibly  might 
not  be  done  ere  long. 

I ate  very  little  food  all  that  day,  and  when  the 
evening  came  I was  conscious  of  a heavy  depression 
and  sense  of  great  loneliness.  This  feeling  was  of  course 
getting  more  and  more  common  with  me, — at  is  the 
deadly  stupor  of  the  absmtheur  which  frequently  precedes 
some  startling  phase  of  nightmare  fantasy.  I had  a crav- 
ing, similar  to  that  of  the  previous  night  for  the  rush  of 
crowds,  for  light  and  noise, — so  I made  my  way  to  the 
Boulevard  Montmartre.  Here  throngs  of  people  swept 
forward  and  backward  like  the  ebb  and  flow  of  an  ocean- 
tide, — it  was  fine  weather,  and  the  little  tables  in  front 
of  the  cafes  were  pushed  far  out,  some  almost  to  the  edge 
of  the  curbstone, — while  the  perpetual  shriek  and  chatter 
of  the  Boulevard  monkeys,  male  and  female,  surged 
through  the  quiet  air  with  incessant  reverberations  of 
shrill  discord.  Here  and  there  one  chanced  bn  the 
provincial  British  paterfamilias  new  to  Paris,  with  his 
coffee  in  front  of  him,  his  meek  fat-faced  partner  beside 
him,  and  his  olive-branches  spreading  around, — and  it  is 
always  to  a certain  extent  amusing  to  watch  the  various 
expressions  of  wonder,  offence,  severity  and  general 
superiority  which  pass  over  the  good  stupid  features  of 
such  men  when  they  first  find  themselves  in  a crowd  of 
Parisian  idlers, — men  who  are  so  aggressively  respectable 
in  their  own  estimation  that  they  imagine  all  the  rest  of 
the  world,  especially  the  Continental  world,  must  be 
scoundrels.  Once,  however,  by  chance  I saw  a British 
“ papa,”  the  happy  father  of  ten,  coming  out  of  a place  of 
amusement  in  Paris  where  certes  he  had  no  business  to 
be, — but  I afterwards  heard  that  he  was  a very  good  man, 
and  always  went  regularly  to  church  o’  Sundays  when  he 
was  at  home  ! I suppose  he  made  it  all  right  with  his 
conscience  in  that  way.  It  is  a droll  circumstance,  by  the 


WOKMPVOOD. 


265 


bye, — that  steady  going-to-church  of  the  English  folk  in 
order  to  keep  up  appearances  in  their  respective  neighbor- 
hoods. They  know  they  can  learn  nothing  there, — they 
know  that  their  vicars  or  curates  will  only  tell  them  the 
old  platitudes  of  religion  such  as  all  the  world  has  grown 
weary  of  hearing — they  know  that  nothing  new,  nothing 
large,  nothing  grand  can  be  expected  from  these  narrow- 
minded expounders  of  a doctrine  which  is  not  of  God  nor 
of  Christ,  nor  of  anything  save  convenience  and  self- 
interest,  and  yet  they  attend  their  dull  services  and 
sermons  regularly  and  soberly  without  any  more  unbecom- 
igg  behavior  than  an  occasional  yawn  or  brief  nap  in  the 
corner  of  their  pews.  Droll  and  inexplicable  are  the 
ways  of  England  ! — and  yet  withal,  they  are  better  than 
the  ways  of  France  when  everything  is  said  and  done.  I 
used  to  hate  England  in  common  with  all  Frenchmen 
worthy  the  name, — but  now  I am  not  so  sure.  I saw  an 
English  woman  the  other  day, — young  and  fair,  with 
serious  sweet  eyes, — she  walked  in  the  Champs  Elysees 
by  the  side  of  an  elderly  man,  her  father  doubtless, — and 
she  seemed  gravely,  not  frivolously,  pleased  with  what 
she  saw.  But  she  had  that  exquisite  composure,  that 
serene  quietude  and  grace, — that  fine  untouchable  delicacy 
about  her  air  and  manner  which  our  women  of  France 
have  little  or  nothing  of, — an  air  which  made  me,  the 
absintheur , slink  back  as  she  passed, — slink  and  crouch 
in  hiding  till  she,  the  breathing  incarnation  of  sweet  and 
stainless  womanhood,  had  taken  her  beauty  out  of  sight, 
— beauty  which  was  to  me  a stinging  silent  reproach, 
reminding  me  of  the  dignity  of  life, — a dignity  which  I 
had  trampled  in  the  dust  and  lost  forever ! 

Yes  ! — it  was  merry  enough  on  the  bright  Boulevards 
that  evening, — there  were  many  people, — numbers  of 
strangers  and  visitors  to  Paris  among  them.  I strolled 
leisurely  to  the  cafe  I knew  best,  where  my  Absinthe- 
witch  brewed  her  emerald  potion  with  more  than  common 
strength  and  flavor, — and  I had  not  sat  there  so  very 
long,  meditatively  stirring  round  and  round  the  pale-green 
liquor  in  my  glass  when  I saw  Andre  Gessonex  approach- 
ing. I remembered  then  that  I had  told  him  to  meet  me 
some  evening  at  this  very  place  on  the  Boulevard  Mont- 
martre, though  I had  scarcely  expected  to  see  him  quite 
so  soon.  He  looked  tidier  than  usual, — he  had  evidently 


266 


WORMWOOD. 


made  an  attempt  to  appear  more  gentlemanly  than  ever, — 
even  his  disordered  hair  had  been  somewhat  arranged 
with  a view  to  neatness.  He  saw  me  at  once,  and  came 
jauntily  up, — lifting  his  hat  with  the  usual  flourish.  He 
glanced  at  my  tumbler. 

“The  old  cordial  ! ” he  said  with  a laugh.  “What  a 
blessed  remedy  for  all  the  ills  of  life  it  is,  to  be  sure ! 
Almost  as  excellent  as  death, — only  not  quite  so  certain 
in  its  effects.  Have  you  been  here  long  ? ” 

“ Not  long,”  I responded,  setting  a chair  for  him  beside 
my  own.  “ Shall  I order  your  portion  of  the  nectar  ? ” 
“ Ah  1 — do  so  ! ” — and  he  stroked  his  pointed  beard 
absently,  while  he  stared  at  me  with  an  unseeing,  vague, 
yet  smiling  regard — “ I am  going  to  purchase  a ‘ Journal 
pour  Eire  ’ / — it  has  a cartoon  that, — but  perhaps  you  have 
seen  it  ? ” 

I had  seen  it — a pictured  political  skit, — but  its  ob- 
scenity had  disgusted  even  me.  I say  “ even  ” me, — be- 
cause now  I was  not  easily  shocked  or  repelled.  But 
this  particular  thing  was  so  gratuitously  indecent  that, 
though  I was  accustomed  to  see  Parisians  enjoy  both 
pictorial  and  literary  garbage  with  the  zest  of  vultures 
tearing  carrion,  I was  somewhat  surprised  at  their  toler- 
ating so  marked  an  instance  of  absolute  grossness  without 
wit.  It  astonished  me  too  to  hear  Gessonex  speak  of  it, 
— I should  not  have  thought  it  in  his  line.  However  I 
assented  briefly  to  his  query. 

“ It  is  clever  ” — he  went  on,  still  thoughtfully  stroking 
his  beard — “ and  it  is  a reflex  of  the  age  we  live  in.  Its 
sale  to-day  will  bring  in  much  more  money  than  I ask  for 
one  of  my  pictures.  And  that  is  another  reflex  of  the 
age ! I admire  the  cartoon, — and  I envy  the  artist  who 
designed  it ! ” 

I burst  out  laughing. 

“ You  ! You  envy  the  foul-minded  wretch  who  pol- 
luted his  pencil  with  such  a thing  as  that?” 

“Assuredly!”  and  Gessonex  smiled, — a peculiar  far- 
away sort  of  smile.  “ He  dines,  and  I do  not — he  sleeps, 
and  I do  not, — he  has  ax  full  purse, — mine  is  empty  ! — 
and  strangest  anomaly  of  all,  because  he  pays  his  way  he 
is  considered  respectable, — while  I,  not  being  able  to  pay 
my  way,  am  judged  as  quite  the  reverse  ! Foul-minded  ? 
Polluted?  Tut,  mon  cher  / there  is  no  foul-mindedness 


WORMWOOD . 


267 

nowadays  except  lack  of  cash, — and  the  only  pollution 
possible  to  the  modem  artist’s  pencil  is  to  use  it  on  work 
that  does  not  pay  !” 

With  these  words  he  turned  from  me  and  went  towards 
the  little  kiosque  at  the  corner  close  by  where  the  journals 
of  the  day  were  sold  by  the  usual  sort  of  painted  and 
betrinketed  female  whom  one  generally  sees  presiding  over 
these  street-stalls  of  the  cheap  press, — and  I watched  him 
curiously,  not  knowing  why  I did  so.  He  was  always 
affected  in  his  walk, — but  on  this  particular  evening  his 
swaggering  gait  seemed  to  be  intensified.  I saw  him  take 
the  “ Journal  pour  Rire”  in  his  hand, — and  I heard  him 
give  a loud  harsh  guffaw  of  laughter  at  the  wretched 
cartoon  it  contained, — laughter  in  which  the  woman  who 
sold  it  to  him  joined  heartily  with  the  ready  appreciation 
nearly  all  low-class  Frenchwomen  exhibit  for  the  question- 
able and  indelicate, — and  I turned  away  my  eyes  from 
him  vaguely  vexed  at  his  manner, — I had  always  deemed 
him  above  mere  brute  coarseness.  It  was  to  me  a new 
phase  of  his  character,  and  ill  became  him, — moreover  it 
seemed  put  on  like  a mask  or  other  disfiguring  disguise. 
I looked  away  from  him,  as  I say, — when,  all  at  once, — - 
the  sharp  report  of  a pistol-shot  hissed  through  the  air, — 
there  was  a flash  of  flame — a puff  of  smoke, — then  came 
a fearful  scream  from  the  woman  at  the  kiosque,  followed 
by  a sudden  rush  of  people, — and  I sprang  up  just  in 
time  to  see  Gessonex  reel  forward  and  fall  heavily  to  the 
ground  ! In  less  than  a minute  a crowd  had  gathered 
round  him,  but  I forced  my  way  through  the  pressing 
throng  till  I reached  his  side, — and  then, — then  I very 
quickly  realized  what  had  happened ! Absinthe  had 
done  its  work  well  this  time  ! — and  no  divine  intervention 
had  stopped  the  suicide  of  the  body  any  more  than  it  had 
stopped  the  suicide  of  the  soul  ! The  powers  of  heaven 
are  always  very  indifferent  about  thes*e  matters, — and 
Gessonex  had  taken  all  laws  both  human  and  superhuman 
into  his  own  hands  for  the  nonce, — he  had  shot  himself  ! 
He  had  coolly  and  deliberately  sent  a bullet  whizzing 
through  his  brain, — his  fingers  still  convulsively  grasped 
the  weapon  with  which  he  had  done  the  deed — his  mouth 
was  streaming  with  blood — and  the  “ Jour?ial  pour  Rire ,” 
with  its  detestable  cartoon,  lay  near  him,  spotted  and 
stained  with  the  same  deadly  crimson  hue.  A ghastly 


268 


WORMWOOB . 


sight ! — a horrible  end  ! — and  yet — there  was  something 
indescribably  beautiful  in  the  expression  of  the  wide- 
open,  fast-glazing  eyes ! Mastering  my  sick  fear  and 
trembling  I bent  over  him, — a young  surgeon  who  had 
happened  to  be  passing  by  at  the  time  was  bending  over 
him  too,  and  gently  wiping  away  the  blood  from  his  lips, 
— and  to  this  man  I addressed  a hurried  word. 

“ Is  he  dead  ? ” 

“No.  He  still  breathes.  But,  a couple  of  minutes, — 
et  c'est  fini  ! ” 

Gessonex  heard,  and  made  a slight  movement  to  and 
fro  with  one  hand  on  his  breast. 

“ Oui,  c’est  fini ! ” he  muttered  thickly.  “ Le  dernier 
mot  du  Christ ! — le  dernier  mot  de  tout  le  monde ! — c’est 
fini ! Enfin — j’ai  paye  . . . tout ! ” 

And  stretching  out  his  limbs  with  a long  and  terrible 
shudder  he  expired.  The  features  whitened  slowly'  and 
grew  rigid — the  jaw  fell,-= — all  was  over  ! I rose  from  my 
kneeling  attitude  on  the  pavement  like  one  in  a dream, — 
scarcely  noting  the  awed  and  pitying  faces  of  the  crowd 
of  by-standers, — and  found  myself  face  to  face  with  a 
couple  of  gendarmes.  They  were  civil  enough,  but  they 
had  their  duty  to  perform. 

“ You  knew  him  ? ” they  asked  me,  pointing  to  the 
corpse. 

“ Only  slightly,” — I responded, — “ a mere  acquaint- 
ance.” 

“ Ah  ! But  you  can  give  us  his  name  ? ” 

“Assuredly!  Andre  Gessonex.” 

“ What  ? The  artist  ? ” exclaimed  some  one  near  me. 

“Yes.  The  artist.” 

“ Mon  Dieu  / What  a calamity  ! Andre  Gessonex  ! 
A genius  ! — and  we  have  so  few  geniuses  ? Messieurs, 
c’est  Andre  Gessonex  qui  est  mort ! grand  peintre,  voyez- 
vous  ! — grand  homme  de  France  ! ” 

I listened,  stupefied.  It  was  like  one  of  the  scenes  of 
a wild  nightmare  ! “ Grand  homme  de  France  ! ” What ! 

— so  soon  great,  now  that  he  was  dead  ? Utterly  bewil- 
dered I heard  the  name  run  from  mouth  to  mouth, — peo- 
ple who  had  never  known  it  before,  caught  it  up  like  a 
watch-word,  and  in  a moment  the  fever  of  French  enthu- 
siasm had  spread  all  along  the  Boulevards.  The  man  who 
had  first  started  it,  talked  louder  and  louder,  growing 


WORMWOOD. 


269 

more  and  more  eloquent  with  every  bombastic  shower  of 
words  he  flung  to  his  eager  and  attentive  audience, — the 
excitement  increased, — the  virtues  of  the  dead  man  were 
proclaimed  and  exalted,  and  his  worth  found  out  sud- 
denly and  as  suddenly  acknowledged  with  the  wildest 
public  acclaim  ! A stretcher  was  brought, — the  body  of 
Gessonex  was  laid  upon  it  and  covered  reverently  with  a 
cloth, — I was  asked  for,  and  gave  the  address  of  the  mis- 
erable room  where  the  poor  forlorn  wretch  had  struggled 
for  bare  existence, — and  in  a very  few  minutes  a proces- 
sion was  formed,  which  added  to  its  numbers  with  every 
step  of  the  way.  Women  wept, — men  chattered  volubly 
in  true  Parisian  fashion  concerning  the  great  gifts  of  one 
whom  they  had  scarcely  ever  heard  of  till  now, — and  I 
watched  it  all,  listened  to  it  all  in  a vague  incredulous 
stupor  which  utterly  darkened  all  my  capability  of  reason- 
ing out  the  mingled  comedy  and  tragedy  of  the  situation. 
But  when  the  silly,  hypocritical  mourning-train  had  wound 
itself  out  of  sight,  I went  away  in  my  turn, — away  from 
everything  and  everybody  into  a dusky,  cool,  old  and  un- 
requented  church,  and  there  in  full  view  of  the  sculpt- 
fured  Christ  on  the  cross,  I gave  way  to  reckless  laughter  ! 
Yes  ! — laughter  that  bordered  on  weeping,  on  frenzy,  011 
madness,  if  you  will ! — for  who  would  not  laugh  at  the 
woeful  yet  ridiculous  comedy  of  the  world’s  ways  and  the 
world’s  justice  ! Andre  Gessonex,  alive,  might  starve  for 
all  Paris  cared, — but  Andre  Gessonex  dead,  hurried  out 
of  existence  by  his  own  act,  was  in  a trice  of  time  dis- 
covered to  be  “ grand  homme  de  France /”  Ah,  ye 
cruel  beasts  that  call  yourselves  men  and  women ! 
— cruel  and  wanton  defacers  of  God’s  impress  on  the 
human  mind,  if  any  impress  of  God  there  be, — is  there  no 
punishment  lurking  behind  the  veil  of  the  Universe  for 
you  that  shall  in  some  degree  atone  to  all  the  great  who 
have  suffered  at  your  hands  ? To  be  nobler  than  com- 
mon is  a sufficient  reason  for  contempt  and  misprisal  by 
the  vulgar  majority, — and  never  yet  was  there  a grand 
spirit  shut  in  human  form,  whether  Socrates  or  Christ, 
that  has  not  been  laid  on  the  rack  of  torture  and  wrenched 
piece-meal  by  the  red-hot  flaying-irons  of  public  spite, 
derision,  or  neglect.  Surely  there  shall  be  an  atone- 
ment ? If  not,  then  there  is  a figure  set  wrong  in  the 
mathematical  balance  of  Creation, — a line  awry, — a flaw 


WORMWOOD. 


270 

in  the  round  jewel, — and  God  Himself  cannot  be  Per* 
feet ! But  why  do  I talk  of  God  ? I do  not  believe  in 
Him?— and  yet, — one  is  always  perplexed  and  baffled  by 
the  Inexplicable  Cau^e  of  things.  And, — somehow, — my 
laughter  died  away  in  a sob,  as  I sat  in  the  quiet  gloom 
of  the  lonely  old  church  and  watched  the  dim  lamps 
twinkle  above  the  altar,  while  ail  that  was  mortal  of 
Andre  Gessonex  was  being  carried  mournfully  back  to 
his  miserable  attic  by  the  capricious,  weeping,  laughing, 
frivolous  crowds  of  Paris  that  had  let  him  die,  self-slain ! 


WORM  WO  OD. 


27  J 


XXVIII. 

A few  days  elapsed,  and  the  rest  of  the  little  miserable 
farce  of  Fame  was  played  out  with  all  the  pomp  and  cir- 
cumstance of  a great  tragedy.  The  wretched  attic  which 
had  served  poor  Gessonex  for  both  studio  and  sleeping- 
room  was  piled  so  high  with  wreaths  of  roses  and  laurel 
that  one  could  scarcely  enter  its  low  door  for  the  abun- 
dance of  flowers, — all  his  debts  were  paid  by  voluntary 
contributions  from  suddenly  discovered  admirers,  and  the 
merest  unfinished  sketch  he  had  left  behind  him  fetched 
fabulous  sums.  The  great  picture  of  the  priest  in  the 
cathedral  was  found  uncurtained,  with  a paper  pinned 
across  it  bearing  these  words — 

“ Bequeathed  to  France 
In  exchange  for  a Grave  ! ” 

And  the  fame  of  it  went  through  all  the  land, — every- 
body spoke  of  “ Le  Pretre  ” — as  it  was  called,— all  the 
newspapers  were  full  of  it, — it  was  borne  reverently  to  the 
Musee  du  Luxembourg,  and  there  hung  in  a grand  room 
by  itself,  framed  with  befitting  splendor  and  festooned 
about  with  folds  of  royal  purple  ; — and  people  came  softly 
in  to  look  at  it  and  to  wonder  at  the  terror  and  pathos  of 
its  story, — and  whispering  pity  for  the  painter’s  fate  was 
on  the  lips  of  all  the  fair  and  fashionable  dames  of  Paris, 
who  visited  it  in  crowds  and  sent  garlands  of  rare  value 
to  deck  its  dead  creator’s  coffin.  And  I, — I looked  on, 
sarcastically  amused  at  everything, — and  all  I did  was  to 
visit  the  blossom-scented  garret  from  time  to  time  to  see 
the  “ brute” — the  strange,  uncouth  little  boy,  whom  Ges- 
sonex had  designated  as  his  “ model  for  the  Stone  Period,” 
— and  “ a production  of  Absinthe.”  This  elvish  creature 
would  not  believe  his  patron  was  dead, — he  could  not  be 
brought  to  understand  it  in  any  sort  of  way, — -neither  could 
be  persuaded  to  touch  a morsel  of  food.  Night  after  night, 


WORMWOOD. 


272 

day  after  day,  he  kept  watch  by  the  mortal  remains  of  his 
only  friend,  like  a faithful  hound, — his  whole  soul  concen- 
trated as  it  seemed  in  his  large  bright  eyes  which  rested 
on  the  set  waxen  features  of  the  dead  man  with  a tender- 
ness and  patience  that  was  almost  awful.  At  last  the 
final  hour  came, — the  time  for  the  funeral,  which  was  to 
be  a public  one,  carried  out  with  all  the  honors  due  to 
departed  greatness, — and  it  was  then  that  the  poor  “ brute  9 
began  to  be  troublesome.  He  clung  to  the  coffin  with 
more  than  human  strength  and  tenacity, — and  when  they 
tried  to  drag  him  away,  he  snarled  and  bit  like  a wild  cat. 
No  one  knew  what  to  do  with  him, — and  finally  a sugges- 
tion was  made  that  he  should  be  gagged,  tied  with  cords, 
and  dragged  away  by  force  from  the  chamber  of  death  in 
which  the  poor  child  had  learned  all  he  knew  of  life.  This 
course  was  decided  upon,  and  early  in  the  afternoon  of 
the  ‘day  on  which  it  was  to  be  carried  out,  I went  into  the 
room  and  looked  at  him,  conscious  of  a certain  vague  pity 
stirring  at  my  heart  for  his  wretched  fate.  The  sunlight 
streamed  in,  making  a wide  pattern  on  the  floor, — wreaths 
and  cushions  of  immortelles  and  garlands  of  laurel  were 
piled  about  everywhere, — and  in  the  centre  of  these 
heaped-up  floral  offerings,  the  coffin  stood, — the  lid  partly 
off,  for  the  little  savage  guardian  of  it  would  never  allow 
it  to  be  actually  shut.  The  face  of  Gessonex  was  just 
visible, — it  had  changed  from  meagreness  to  beauty,— a 
great  peace  was  settled  and  engraved  upon  it, — and  fra- 
grant lilies  lay  all  about  his  throat  and  brow,  hiding  the 
wound  in  his  temple  and  covering  up  all  disfigurement. 
The  boy  sat  beside  the  coffin  immovable, — watchfully  h> 
tent  as  usual, — apparently  waiting  for  his  friend  to  awrake. 
On  an  impulse  I spoke  to  him, — 

“ Tu  as  faim , mon  enfant  ? ” 

He  looked  up. 

“ Non  ! ” The  reply  was  faint  and  sullen, — and  he 
kept  his  head  turned  away  as  he  spoke. 

I waited  a moment,  and  then  went  up  and  laid  my 
hand  gently  on  his  shoulder. 

“ Listen  ! ” I said  slowly,  separating  my  words  w7ith 
careful  distinctness,  for  I knew  his  comprehension  of 
language  was  limited, — “You  wait  for  what  will  not 
happen.  He  is  not  asleep — so  he  cannot  wake.  Try 
to  understand  me, — he  is  ?iot  here” 


WORMWOOD.  273* 

The  great  jewel-like  eyes  of  the  child  rested  on  me 
earnestly. 

“ Not  here  ? ” he  repeated  dully.  “ Not  here  ? ” 

“No/5  I said  firmly.  “ He  has  gone!  Where?  Ah, 
— that  is  difficult ! — but — we  believe,  not  so  very  far 
away.  See  ! ” — and  I moved  the  flowers  a little  that 
covered  the  breast  of  the  corpse, — “ This  man  is  pale 
- — he  is  made  of  marble, — he  does  not  move,  he  does 
not  speak — he  does  not  look  at  you, — how  then  can  it  be 
your  friend?  Surely  you  can  observe  for  yourself  that  he 
cares  nothing  for  you, — if  it  were  your  friend  he  would 
smile  and  speak  to  you.  He  is  not  here, — this  white, 
quiet  personage  is  not  he  ! — he  is  gone  ! ” 

Some  glimmer  of  my  meaning  seemed  to  enter  the 
boy’s  brain,  for  he  suddenly  stood  up,  and  an  anxious 
look  clouded  his  face. 

“ Gone  ? ” he  echoed.  “ Gone  ? — but  why  should  he 
go  ? ” 

“ He  was  tired  ! ” I replied,  smiling  a little.  “ He 
needed  peace  and  rest.  You  will  find  him,  I am  sure, 
if  you  look,  among  the  green  trees  where  the  birds  sing — 
where  there  are  running  brooks  and  flowers,  and  fresh 
winds  to  shake  the  boughs, — where  all  artists  love  to 
dwell  when  they  can  escape  from  cities.  He  has  gone,  I 
tell  you  ! — and  Paris  is  making  one  of  its  huge  mistakes 
as  usual.  This  is  not  Gessonex, — why  do  you  not  go 
after  him  and  find  him  ? ” 

An  eager  light  sparkled  in  his  eyes, — he  clenched  his 
hands  and  set  his  teeth. 

“ Ouiy — oui ! ” he  murmured  rapidly.  u Je  vais  le  cher- 
cher — mon  Dieu  ! mais  . . . ou  done  ? ” 

Now  was  my  opportunity,  if  he  would  only  suffer  him- 
self to  be  persuaded  away ! 

“ Come  with  me,”  I said.  “ I will  take  you  to  him.” 

He  fixed  his  gaze  upon  me, — the  half-timorous,  half- 
trusting  gaze  of  a wild  animal — a look  that  somehow 
shamed  me  by  its  strange  steadfastness,  so  that  it  was  as 
much  as  I could  do  to  meet  it  without  embarrassment. 
He  was  a little  savage  at  heart, — and  he  had  the  savage’s 
instinctive  perception  of  treachery. 

“ Non  J”  he  muttered  resolutely — “ Je  vais  le  chercher 
scul!  ...  II  n' est  pas  ici  P ” 

And  with  this  query  addressed  more  to  himself  than 
18 


274 


WORMWOOD . 


to  me,  he  sprang  again  to  the  side  of  the  coffin  and 
looked  in ; — and  then  for  the  first  time,  as  it  seemed,  the 
consciousness  of  the  different  aspect  of  his  friend  ap- 
peared to  strike  him. 

“ C’est  vrai ! ” he  said  amazedly.  “ II  n’est  pas  ici ! 
ce  n’est  pas  lui ! J’ai  perdu  le  temps  ; — je  vais  le  cher- 
cher  ! — mais,  seul ! — seul ! ” 

And  without  another  moment’s  delay  he  crept  past 
me  like  the  strange,  stealthy  creature  he  was,  and  running 
swiftly  down  the  stairs,  disappeared.  I sat  still  in  the 
room  for  some  time  expecting  he  would  return,  but  he  did 
not, — he  was  gone,  heaven  only  could  tell  where.  A 
little  later  in  the  day  the  men  came  who  were  prepared 
to  take  him  captive, — and  glad  enough  they  were  to  find 
him  no  longer  in  their  way,  for  no  one  had  much  relished 
the  idea  of  a tussle  with  the  wild,  devilish-looking  little 
creature  whose  natural  ferocity  was  so  declared  and  so 
untameable ; and  all  the  arrangements  for  the  last  obse- 
quies of  Andre  Gessonex  were  now  completed  without 
any  further  delay  or  interruption.  As  for  me,  I knew  I 
had  sent  the  child  into  a wilderness  of  perplexities  that 
would  never  be  cleared  up, — he  would  search  and  search 
for  his  patron  probably  till  he  died  of  sheer  fatigue  and 
disappointment, — but  what  then  ? As  well  die  that  way  as 
any  other, — I could  not  befriend  him, — besides,  even  had 
I wished  to  do  so,  the  chances  were  that  he  would  not 
have  trusted  me.  Anyway  I saw  him  no  more, — whatever 
his  fate  I never  knew  it. 

. And  so  it  came  about  that  the  funeral  of  the  starved, 
unhappy,  half-mad  painter  of  “ Le  Pretre  ” was  the  finest 
thing  that  had  been  seen  in  Paris  for  many  a long  day ! 
Such  pomp  and  solemnity, — such  prancing  of  black  steeds 
- — such  glare  of  blessed  candles — such  odorous  cars  of 
flowers  ! Once  upon  a time  a suicide  was  not  entitled  to 
any  religious  rites  of  burial, — but  we,  with  our  glorious 
Republic  which  keeps  such  a strong  coercing  hand  on  the 
priests  and  will  hear  as  little  of  God  as  may  be, — we  have 
thanged  all  that ! We  do  as  seemethgood  unto  ourselves, 
and  we  do  not  despise  a man  for  having  sent  himself  out 
of  the  world, — on  the  contrary  we  rather  admire  his  spirit. 
It  is  a sort  of  defiance  of  the  Divine, — and  as  such,  meets 
with  our  ready  sympathy ! And  I smiled  as  I saw  the 
mortal  remains  of  my  absinthe-drinking  friend  carried  to 


WORMWOOD. 


275 

the  last  long  Vest I thought  of  his  own  fantastic  dreams 
as  to  what  his  final  end  should  be.  “ The  Raphael  of 
France  ! ” — so  he  had  imagined  he  would  be  called,  when 
he  had,  in  his  incoherent,  yet  picturesque  style,  described 
to  me  his  own  fancied  funeral.  Well ! — so  far  he  had 
been  a fairly  accurate  seer  ; — and  in  leaping  the  boundary- 
line of  life  he  had  caught  Fame  like  a shooting-star  and 
turned  into  a torch  to  shed  strange  brilliancy  on  his  grave. 
All  was  well  with  him, — he  had  not  missed  glory  in  death 
though  he  had  lacked  food  in  life  ! All  was  well  with 
him  ! — he  had  received  the  .best  possible  transformation 
of  his  being, — his  genius  was  everything,  and  he  was 
nothing!  I watched  his  solemn  obsequies  to  their  end, 
— I heard  one  of  the  most  famous  orators  of  France 
proclaim  his  praise  over  the  yawning  tomb  in  which 
they  laid  him  down — and  when  all  was  done,  I,  with 
every  one  else,  departed  from  the  scene.  But  some  hours 
later, — after  the  earth  had  been  piled  above  him, — 
I returned  to  Pere-la-Chaise  and  sat  by  the  just-covered 
grave  alone.  I remembered  he  had  said  he  liked  white 
violets, — and  I had  yielded  to  a foolish  sentiment  and  had 
bought  a small  garland  of  them.  I laid  them  on  the  cold 
and  fresh-turned  soil, — their  scent  sweetened  the  air — and 
I rested  quietly  for  a few  moments,  thinking.  My  mind 
had  been  clearer  since  the  last  one  or  two  days, — my 
faculties  instead  of  being  dulled,  were  more  than  usually 
acute,  — painfully  so  at  times, — for  every  nerve  in  my 
body  would  throb  and  quiver  at  the  mere  passage  of  an  idea 
through  my  brain.  I looked  up  at  the  sky, — it  was  a 
dappled  gray  color,  flecked  here  and  there  with  gold, — 
for  the  setting  of  the  sun  was  nigh, — then  I looked  again 
at  the  white  violets  that  lay,  fragrant  and  pure,  on  the  top 
of  all  the  other  wreaths  of  laurel  and  myrtle  that  covered 
Gessonex’s  grave.  There  was  to  be  a fair  monument 
raised  above  it,  so  the  people  said, — but  I doubted  it ! 
Dore’s  last  resting-place  remains  unmarked  to  this  day ! 
My  countrymen  promise  much  more  than  they  perform, 
— it  is  charming  “ politesse  ” on  their  part,  so  we  do  not 
call  it  lying ! 

Presently  my  eyes  begain  to  wander  round  and  about 
the  cemetery  which  is  beautiful  in  its  way, — a veritable 
City  of  the  Dead,  where  no  rough  rumors  stir  the  air, — 
and  by-and-bye  I caught  sight  of  the  name  “ De  Char- 


WORMWOOD . 


276 

tnilles  ” carved  on  the  marble  portal  of  a tomb  not  very 
far  distant.  I realized  that  I was  close  to  the  funeral- 
vault  of  the  once  proud  family  Pauline  (not  I !)  had  dis-1 
graced  and  ruined, — and  acting  on  a sudden  instinct 
which  I could  not  explain  to  myself,  I rose  and  went  to- 
wards it.  It  was  built  in  the  shape  of  a small  chapel,  as 
many  of  these  tombs  are, — it  had  stained  glass  windows 
and  armorial  bearings,  and  a pair  of  sculptured  aftgels 
guarded  it  with  uplifted  crosses  and  drooping  wings. 
But  there  was  a figure  in  front  of  it  kneeling  at  the  closed 
door  that  was  no  angel, — but  merely  a woman.  She  was 
slight,  and  clad  in  poorest  garments, — the  evening  wind 
blew  her  thin  shawl  about  her  like  a gossamer  sail, — but 
the  glimmer  of  the  late  sunlight  glistened  on  a tress  of 
nut-brown  hair  that  had  escaped  from  its  coils  and  fell 
loosely  over  her  shoulders, — and  my  heart  beat  thickly 
as  I looked, — I knew — I felt  that  woman  was  Pauline  ! 
Now,  should  I speak  to  her,  or  should  I wait, — wait  till 
those  open-air  devotions  of  hers  were  done,  and  then  fol- 
low her  stealthily  and  track  her  out  to  whatever  home  she 
had  found  in  the  wilderness  of  the  city  ? I pondered  a 
moment  and  decided  on  the  latter  course, — then,  crouch- 
ing behind  one  of  the  gravestones  hard  by,  I watched  her 
and  kept  still.  How  long  she  knelt  there  ! — and  what 
patience  women  have  ! They  never  seem  to  tire  of  ask- 
ing favors  of  the  God  who  never  hears, — or  if  He  does 
hear,  never  answers  ! It  must  be  dull  work, — and  yet 
they  do  it ! The  sun  went  down — the  breeze  blew  more 
coldly, — and  at  last,  with  a long  sigh  that  was  half  a 
xnoan,  a sound  that  came  shuddering  forlornly  to  me  where 
I was  in  hiding,  she  rose,  and  with  slow,  rather  faltering 
tread  went  on  her  way  out  of  the  cemetery.  I followed, 
walking  on  the  grass  that  my  footsteps  might  not  be 
heard.  Once  she  turned  round, — I saw  her  face,  and 
seeing  it,  recoiled.  For  it  was  still  so  wondrously  fair 
and  child-like,  though  ravaged  by  grief  and  made  pallid 
by  want  and  anxiety, — it  was  still  the  face  that  had  cap- 
tivated my  soul  and  made  me  mad ! — though  I had  now 
discarded  that  form  of  madness  for  another  more  lasting ! 
Out  into  the  public  thoroughfare  we  passed,  she  and  I, 
one  following  the  other, — and  for  more  than  half  an  hour 
I kept  her  in  sight,  closely  tracking  the  movement  of  her 
slender  figure  as  it  glided  through  the  throng  of  street- 


WORMWOOD . 


m 

passengers, — then, — all  suddenly  I lost  her ! With  a mut- 
tered curse,  I stooc^still,  searching  about  me  eagerly  on 
nil  sides, — but  vainly, — she  was  gone!  Was  she  a phan- 
tom too,  like  Silvion  Guidel  ? What  a fool  I had  been 
■not  to  at  once  attack  her  with  a rough  speech  while  she 
was  kneeling  at  her  father’s  grave  ! It  was  no  sentiment 
of  pity  that  had  held  me  back  from  so  doing, — why  had  I 
let  her  go  ? Heartily  enraged  at  my  own  stupidity,  I 
sauntered  discontentedly  homeward.  I had  changed  resi- 
dence of  late, — for  my  money  was  not  inexhaustible, — 
and  as  I had  refused  the  additional  funds  I might  have 
had  by  right  at  my  father’s  hands,  it  was  well  I had  al- 
ready decided  to  exercise  economy.  I had  taken  a couple 
of  small  rooms,  decent  and  tidy  enough  in  their  way,  in  a 
clean  and  fairly  respectable  house, — that  is,  respectable 
for  the  poorer  quarters  of  Paris, — it  is  only  recently  that 
I have  come  to  the  den  where  I live  now.  But  that  is 
the  humor  of  absinthe  ! — it  leads  one  down  in  the  social 
scale  so  gently,  step  by  step, — so  insidiously, — so  care- 
fully— that  one  cannot  see  the  end.  And  even  for  me, 
the  end  is  not  yet  i 


W0KMWOOD. 


378 


XXIX. 

In  the  thickest  part  of  the  woods  of  Boulogne  it  is  easy 
to  fancy  one’s  self  miles  away  from  Paris, — the  landscape 
is  gently  pleasing  and  pastoral,  and  to  the  eyes  that  are 
unsatiated  with  grander  scenery,  it  will  assuredly  seem 
1 eautiful.  I found  myself  there  one  morning  about  an 
ix'ur  before  noon, — I had  taken  a sudden  fancy  to  see  the 
green  trees,  to  inhale  the  odor  of  the  pines,  and  to  watch 
the  light  breath  of  the  wind  sweep  over  the  grass,  ruffling 
it  softly,  just  as  water  is  ruffled  into  varying  ripples  of 
delicate  grays  and  greens.  I avoided  those  avenues 
where  the  pretty  young  girls  of  Paris  may  be  seen  with 
their  gouvernantes , willing  demurely  along  with  downcast 
eyes  and  that  affectation  of  perfect  innocence  which  does 
so  charm  and  subdue  the  spirits  of  men  until,— well ! — * 
until  they  find  it  is  all  put  on  for  show,  to  ensnare  them 
into  the  marriage-market ! I strolled  into  bosky  dells, 
rendered  sweeter  by  the  luxury  of  solitude, — I,  though  I 
had  the  stain  of  murder  on  my  soul,  for  once  felt  almost 
at  peace  ! I wandered  about  dreamily  and  listlessly, — 
the  absintheur  has  his  occasional  phases  of  tranquillity 
like  other  people, — tranquillity  that  is  as  strange  and  as 
overpowering  as  a sudden  swoon, — in  which  the  tired 
senses  rest,  and  the  brain  is  for  the  nonce  empty  of  all 
images  and  impressions.  And  so  I was  scarcely  startled 
when,  pushing  aside  the  boughs  that  screened  a mossy 
turn  in  the  pathway,  I came  upon  what  at  first  seemed 
like  the  picture  of  a woman  reading, — till  at  last  it  re- 
solved itself  into  substantial  fact  and  form,  and  I recog- 
nized Heloise  St.  Cyr.  She  sat  alone  on  a little  rustic 
bench, — her  face  and  figure  were  slightly  turned  away 
from  me, — she  was  dressed  in  black,  but  she  had  taken 
off  her  hat  and  placed  it  beside  her,  and  the  sunlight 
flickering  through  the  boughs  above  her,  played  fully  on 
her  glorious  gold  hair.  Her  head  was  bent  attentively 


WORMWOOD. 


279 

over  the  book  she  held, — her  attitude  was  full  of  graceful 
ease  and  unstudied  repose, — and  as  I watched  her  from  a 
little  distance,  a sense  of  sudden  awe  and  fear  stole  over 
me, — I trembled  in  every  limb.  A good  girl,  mark  you  ! 
— ^ -a  brave,  sweet,  pure-minded  woman  is  the  most  terrific 
reproach  that  exists  on  earth  to  the  evil-doer  and  wicked 
man.  It  is  as  though  the  deaf  blind  God  suddenly  made 
Himself  manifest, — as  though  He  not  only  heard  and 
saw,  but  with  His  voice  thundered  loud  accusation  I 
Many  of  us, — I speak  of  men, — cling  to  bad  women,  and 
give  them  our  ungrudging  admiration — and  why?  Be- 
cause they  help  us  to  be  vile  ! — because  they  laugh  at  our 
vices  and  foster  them, — and  we  love  them  for  that ! But 
good  women  ! — I tell  you  that  such  are  often  left  loveless 
and  alone,  because  they  will  not  degrade  themselves  to 
our  brute-level.  We  want  toys, — not  angels  ! — puppets, 
not  queens  !'  But  all  the  same,  when  the  angel  or  the 
queen  passes  us  by  with  the  serene  scorn  of  our  base 
passions  written  in  her  clear  calm  eyes,  we  shrink  arid 
are  ashamed, — aye ! if  only  for  a moment’s  space  ! 

And  she, — Heloise, — sat  there  before  me,  unconscious 
of  my  presence — unconscious  that  the  pure  air  about  her 
was  tainted  by  the  unquiet  breathing  of  a murderer  and 
coward  ! For  I knew  myself  to  be  both  these  things, — 
absinthe  had  given  me  the  spirit  of  braggardism,  but  had 
deprived  me  of  all  true  courage.  Boastfulness  is  not 
valor, — yet  it  often  passes  for  such  in  France.  Poor 
France, — fair  France, — dear  France! — there  are  some  of 
her  sons  still  left  who  would  give  their  life  blood  to  see 
her  rise  up  in  her  old  glory,  and  be  again  what  she  once 
was — a queen  of  nations.  But  alas  ! — it  is  not  because 
of  the  German  conquest, — nor  because  she  has  had  fool- 
ish rulers,  that  she  has  fallen  and  is  still  falling, — it  is  be- 
cause the  new  morals  and  opinions  of  the  age,  pro- 
pounded and  accepted  by  narrow-minded,  superficial,  and 
materialistic  thinkers,  breed  in  her  a nest  of  vipers  and 
scorpions  instead  of  men;  and  your  ordinary  modern 
Frenchman  has  too  low  an  estimate  of  all  high  ideals  to 
risk  his  life  in  fighting  for  any  one  of  them.  There  are 
exceptions  to  the  rule  certainly, — there  are  always  excep- 
tions ; — but  they  are  rare  ; — so  rare,  that  we  have  let  all 
Europe  know  there  is  no  really  strong,  wise  ruling  brain 
in  France,  any  more  than  there  is  in  England.  On<^ 


28o 


WORMWOOD. 


would  no  more  accept  M.  Carnot  as  a representative  of 
the  French  national  intellect,  than  one  would  accept  Mr. 
Gladstone  and  his  contradictions  as  a representative  of 
English  stability. 

The  wind  rustled  the  boughs, — a bird  sang  softly  among 
the  upper  cool  bunches  of  leaves, — and  I stood,  screened 
by  the  foliage,  nervously  hesitating  and  looking  at  Heloise, 
the  sweetest  and  best  woman  I had  ever  known.  Always 
fond  of  reading  she  was ! — and  my  restless  mind  flew  off 
to  a hazy  consideration  of  what  her  book  might  possibly 
be.  One  might  safely  conclude  it  was  not  by  Zola, — the 
literary  scavenger  of  Paris  would  have  no  charm  for  that 
high-souled,  proudly-delicate  Nonnandy-bred  maiden. 
Probably  it  was  one  of  her  favorite  classics, — or  a volume 
vcf  poems, — she  was  a great  lover  of  poesy.  I heard  her 
sigh, — a deep  fluttering  sigh  that  mingled  itself  with  the 
low- whispering  wind, — she  suddenly  closed  her  book, — 
and  raising  her  eyes,  looked  out  on  the  quiet  landscape, 
— away  from  me.  My  heart  beat  fast, — but  I resolved  to 
speak  to  her, — and  with  a hasty  movement  I thrust  aside 
the  intervening  boughs. 

“ Heloise  ! ” 

She  started,— what  a pale,  amazed,  scared  face  she 
turned  upon  me  ! Did  she  not  know  me  ? 

“ Heloise  ! ” I said  again. 

She  rose  nervously  from  her  seat,  and  glanced  about 
her  from  right  to  left,  apparently  searching  for  some  way 
of  escape, — it  was  evident  she  took  me  for  some  drunken 
or  impertinent  stranger.  I had  forgotten  how  changed  I 
was, — I had  forgotten  that  I looked  more  like  a tramp 
than  a gentleman  ! I laughed  a little  confusedly,  and 
lifted  my  hat. 

“You  do  not  seem  to  recognize  me,  Heloise  ! ” I said 
carelessly.  “ Yet  Gaston  Beauvais  was  once  no  stranger 
to  you ! ” 

Oh,  what  a wondering,  piteous  look  she  gave  me  ! — 
what  a speechless  sorrow  swam  suddenly  into  the  large, 
lovely  gray  eyes  ! 

“ Gaston  Beauvais  ! ” she  faltered — “ oh  no  ; — not 
possible  ! You, — you — Gaston  ? Oh  no  ! — no  ! ” 

And  covering  her  face  with  her  two  fair  white  hands, 
she  broke  into  sudden  weeping  ! . . . My  God  ! — it  would 
have  been  well  if  I could  have  killed  myself  then  1 For 


WORMWOOD. 


281 


my  heart  was  touched  ; — my  hard,  hard  heart  that  I 
thought  had  turned  to  stone ! Her  tears,  the  sincere  out- 
flow of  a pure  woman’s  womanly  grief,  fell  like  dew  on  my 
burnt  and  callous  soul,  and  for  a moment  I was  stricken 
dumb  with  an  aching  remorse — remorse  that  I should  have 
voluntarily  placed  such  a chasm  of  eternal  separation 
between  all  good  things  and  the  accursed  Me  that  now 
seemed  to  usurp  Creation  rather  than  belong  to  it.  I felt 
a choking  sensation  in  my  throat,— my  lips  grew  parched  ; 
— I strove  to  speak  once  or  twice  but  failed, — and  she, — 
she,  poor  child,  wept  on.  Presently,  making  an  effort  to 
conquer  myself,  I ventured  to  approach  her  a step  or  two 
more  nearly. 

“ Heloise  ! Mademoiselle  St.  Cyr  ! ” — I said  unsteadily 
— “ Pray— -pray  do  not  distress  yourself  like  this ! I was 
foolish  to  have  spoken  to  you — you  were  not  prepared  to 
see  me  ; — I have  startled, — alarmed  you  !— I am  much 
altered  in  my  looks,  I know, — but  I forgot, — pray  forgive 
me  ! ” 

She  checked  her  sobs, — and  uncovering  her  tear-wet 
eyes,  turned  their  humid  lustre  full  upon  me.  I shrank 
a little  backward,- — but  she  stretched  out  her  trembling 
hands. 

“ It  is  really  you,  M.  Gaston  ? ” she  murmured  nerv- 
ously, “Oh,  have  you  been  very  ill?  You  look  so 
strange  and  pale  ! — you  have  greatly  changed  ! ” 

“Yes,  for  the  worse! — I know  that!”  I interrupted 
her  quietly.  “ You  could  scarcely  expect  me  to  improve, 
could  you,  Heloise  ? Nay,  did  you  not  yourself  curse  me, 
not  so  very  long  ago  ? — and  are  you  surprised  to  find  the 
curse  fulfilled  ? ” 

She  sank  on  the  rustic  bench  she  had  just  quitted  and 
regarded  me  with  an  affrighted  look. 

“ I cursed  you  ? ” she  echoed — “ I ? — oh  yes,  yes  ! I re- 
member— I was  wicked — on  that  dreadful  day  of  Pauline’s 
disgrace  and  ruin,  I said  hard  things  to  you-— I know  ! — ■ 
I was  full  of  pain  and  anger, — but,  believe  me,  that  very 
night  I prayed  for  you  ! — indeed  I have  prayed  for  you 
always — for  you  and  my  lost  Pauline  !” 

The  tenderness  her  presence  had  aroused  in  me,  froze 
suddenly  into  chill  cynicism. 

“ Par  dieu  ! Women  are  curious  creatures!”  I said, 
with  a bitter  laugh.  “ They  curse  a man  at  noc^  day, — 


282 


'WORMWOOD. 


and  pray  for  him  at  midnight ! That  is  droll ! But  be- 
ware how  you  couple  perjured  lovers’  names  together,  even 
in  prayer,  mademoiselle — your  God,  if  He  be  consistent 
can  scarcely  care  to  attend  to 'such  a petition, — as  an  in- 
stance, you  see  how  He  has  taken  care  of  me  /” 

Her  head  drooped  : — a shudder  ran  through  her  frame, 
but  she  was  silent. 

“ Look  at  me  ! ” I went  on  recklessly.  “ Look  ! Why, 
you  would  not  have  known  me  if  I had  not  declared  myself  ! 
You  remember  Gaston  Beauvais  ? — what  a dandy  he  was, 
— how  spruce  and  smart  and  even  fastidious  in  dress  ? — a 
silly  young  fool  for  his  pains  ! — you  remember  how  he 
never  took  much  thought  about  anything,  except  to  make 
sure  that  he  did  his  work  conscientiously,  ran  into  no 
debts,  acted  honorably  to  all  men  and  stood  well  with  the 
world.  He  was  the  stupidest  creature  extant ; he  believed 
in  the  possibility  of  happiness ! — he  loved,  and  fancied 
himself  beloved  ! He  was  duped  and  deceived, — all  such 
trusting  noodles  are  ! — and  he  took  his  whipping  and 
scourging  at  the  hands  of  Fate  rather  badly.  But  he 
learnt  wisdom  at  last, — the  wisdom  of  the  wisest ! — he 
found  out  that  men  were  sots  and  knaves,  and  women 
coquettes  and  wantons,  and  he  resolved  to  make  the  best 
of  an  eternally  bad  business  and  please  himself  since  he 
could  please  nobody  else.  And  he  has  succeeded! — here 
he  is  ! — here  1 am  to  answer  for  the  truth  of  his  success  ! 
I am  very  happy  ! — one  does  not  want  a new  coat  to  be 
contented.  I have  heard  say  that  a woman  always  judges 
a man  by  his  clothes, — but  if  you  judge  me  by  mine  you 
wTill  do  wrongly.  They  are  shabby,  I admit — but  I am  at 
ease  in  them,  and  they  serve  me  better  than  a court  suit 
serves  a lacquey.  I look  ill  you  tell  me, — but  I am  not 
ill  ; — the  face  is  always  a tell-tale  in  matters  of  dissi- 
pation,— and  I do  not  deny  that  I am  dissipated,” — here 
I laughed  harshly  as  I met  her  grieved  and  wondering 
gaze, — “ I live  a fast  life, — I consort  with  evil  men  and 
evil  women, : — that  is,  people  who  do  not,  like  the  hypocrit- 
ical higher  classes  of  society,  waste  valuable  time  in 
pretending  to  be  good.  I am  a gamester, — an  idler — a 
faineant  of  the  Paris  cafes , — I have  taken  my  life  in  my 
own  hands  and  torn  it  up  piecemeal  for  any  dog  to  devour, 
— and,  to  conclude,  I am  an  absmtheur , by  which  term,  if 
you  understand  it  at  all,  you  will  obtain  the  whole  clue  to 


WORMWOOD. 


283 


the  mystery  of  my  present  existence.  Absinthe-drink- 
ing is  a sort  of  profession  as  well  as  amusement  in  Paris, 
- — it  is  followed  by  many  men  both  small  and  great, — 
men  of  distinction,  as  well  as  nobodies, — I am  in  excellent 
company,  I assure  you  ] — and,  upon  my  word,  when  I 
think  of  my  past  silly  efforts  to  keep  in  a straight  line  of 
law  with  our  jaded  system  of  morals  and  behavior,  and 
compare  it  with  my  present  freedom  from  all  restraint 
and  responsibility,  I have  nothing — positively  nothing  to 
regret ! ” 

During  this  tirade,  the  fair  woman’s  face  beside  me 
had  grown  paler  and  paler,— her  lips  were  firmly  pressed 
together, — her  eyes  cast  down.  When  I had  finished,  I 
waited,  expecting  to  hear  some  passionate  burst  of  re- 
reproach from  her,  but  none  came.  She  took  up  her 
book,  methodically  marked  the  place  in  it  where  she  had 
left  off  reading, — put  on  her  hat,  (though  I noticed  her 
hands  trembled)  and  then  rising,  she  said  simply — 

“ Adieu  !” 

I stared  at  her  amazed. 

“Adieu!”  I echoed — “What  do  you  mean?  Do  you 
think  I can  let  you  go  without  more  words  than  these 
after  so  many  weeks  of  separation  ? It  was  in  June  I 
last  saw  you, — and  it  is  now  close  upon  the  end  of  Sep- 
tember,— and  what  a host  of  tragedies  have  been  en- 
acted since  then  ! Tragedies  ! — aye  ! — murders  and  sui- 
cides ! ” — and  with  an  involuntary  gesture  of  appeal  I 
stretched  out  my  hand, — “ Do  not  go,  Heloi'se — not  yet ! 
I want  to  speak  to  you  ! — I want  to  ask  you  a thousand 
things  ! ” 

“ Why  ? ” she  queried  in  a mechanical  sort  of  way — 
* you  say  you  have  nothing  to  regret ! ” 

I stood  mute.  Her  eyes  now  rested  on  me  steadfastly 
enough,  yet  with  a strained  piteousness  in  them  that  dis- 
turbed me  greatly. 

“ You  have  nothing  to  regret,” — she  repeated  list- 
lessly— “ Old  days  are  over  for  you — as  they  are  for  me! 
In  the  space  of  a few  months,  the  best,  the  happiest  part 
of  our  lives  has  ended.  Only  ” — and  she  caught  her 
breath  hard — “ before  I go — I will  say  one  thing — it  is 
that  I am  sorry  I cursed  you  or  seemed  to  curse  you.  It 
was  wrong, — though  indeed  it  is  not  I that  would  have 
driven  you  to  spoil  your  life  as  you  yourself  have  spoiled 


284 


WORMWOOD . 


it.  I know  you  suffered  bitterly— but  I had  hoped  you 
were  man  enough  to  overcome  that  suffering  and  make 
yourself  master  of  it.  I knew  you  were  deceived — but  I 
had  thought  you  generous  enough  to  have  pardoned  de- 
ceit. You  seemed  to  me  a brave  and  gallant  gentleman, 
— I was  not  prepared  to  find  your  nature  weak  and — and 
cowardly ! ” 

She  hesitated  before  the  last'word, — but,  as  she  uttered 
it,  I smiled. 

“ True,  quite  true,  Heloise  ! ” I said  quietly — 44  I am  a 
coward  ! I glory  in  it ! The  brave  are  those  that  run  all 
sorts  of  dangerous  risks  for  the  sake  of  others, — or  for  a 
cause,  the  successful  results  of  which  they  personally 
will  not  be  permitted  to  share.  I avoid  all  this  trouble  ! 
I am  4 coward  ’ enough  to  wish  comfort  and  safety  for 
myself, — I leave  the  question  of  Honor  to  the  arguing 
tongues  and  clashing  swords  of  those  who  care  about  it, 
— I do  not ! ” 

She  looked  at  me  indignantly,  and  her  large  eyes 
flashed. 

“Oh  God  ! ” she  cried.  44  Is  it  possible  you  can  have 
fallen  so  low  ! Was  not  your  cruel  vengeance  sufficient  ? 
You  drove  Pauline  from  her  home, — her  disgrace  which 
you  so  publicly  proclaimed  killed,  as  you  know,  my  uncle 
her  father, — evil  and  misfortune  have  been  sown  broadcast 
by  that  one  malicious  act  of  yours, — even  the  wretched 
Silvion  Guidel  has  disappeared  mysteriously — no  trace  of 
him  can  be  found, — and  not  content  with  this  havoc,  you 
ruin  yourself  ! And  all  for  what  ? For  a child’s  broken 
troth-plight  ! — a child  who,  as  I told  you  at  first,  was  too 
young  to  know  her  own  mind,  and  who  simply  accepted 
you  as  her  affianced  husband,  because  she  thought  it 
would  please  her  parents, — no  more  ! She  had  then  no 
idea,  no  conception  of  love  ; — and  when  it  came,  she  fell 
a victim  to  it — it  was  too  strong  for  her  slight  resistance. 
I warned  you  as  well  as  I could, — I foresaw  it  all, — I 
dreaded  it — for  no  woman  as  young  and  impressionable  as 
Pauline  could  have  been  long  in  Silvion  Guidel’s  com- 
pany without  being  powerfully  attracted.  I warned  you, — 
but  you  would  see  nothing — men  are  so  blind  ! They 
cannot — they  will  not  understand  that  in  every  woman’s 
heart  there  is  the  hunger  of  love — a hunger  which  must 
be  appeased.  When  you  first  met  Pauline  she  had  never 


WORMWOOD . 


285 

known  this  feeling, — and  you  never  roused  it  in  her, — 
but  it  woke  at  the  mere  glance,  the  mere  voice  of  Silvion 
Guidel.  These  things  will  happen — -they  are  always 
happening, — one  is  powerless  to  prevent  them.  If  one 
could  always  love  where  love  is  advisable  ! — but  one  can- 
not do  so  ! Pauline’s  sin  was  no  more  than  that  of. hun- 
dreds of  other  women  who  not  only  win  the  world’s  pardon, 
but  also  the  exoneration  of  the  sternest  judges, — and  yet 
I am  sure  she  has  suffered  with  a sharper  intensity  than 
many  less  innocent ! But  you — you  have  nothing  to  regret, 
you  say — no  ! — not  though  two  homes  lie  wasted  and  de- 
serted by  your  pitilessness  ! — and,  now  you  have  ravaged 
your  own  life  too — you  might  have  spared  that — yes,  you 
might  have  spared  that, — you  might  have  left  that — to 
God  ! ” 

Her  breast  heaved,  and  a wave  of  color  rushed  to  her 
cheeks  and  as  quickly  receded, — she  pressed  one  hand  on 
her  heart. 

“ You  need  not  ” — she  went  on  pathetically — “ have 
given  me  cause  to-day  to  even  imagine  that  perhaps  my 
foolish  curse  did  harm  to  you.  It  is  a vague  reproach 
that  I shall  think  of  often  ! And  yet  I know  I spoke  in 
haste  only — and  without  any  malicious  intent, — I could 
not,” — here  her  voice  sank  lower  and  lower — “ I could 
not  have  truly  cursed  what  I once  loved  ! ” 

My  heart  gave  a fierce  bound, — and  then  almost  stood 
still.  Loved  ! What  she  once  loved  / Had  she,  then, 
loved  me? — Certes,  a glimmering  guess, — a sort  of  in- 
stinctive feeling  that  she  might  have  loved  me,  had  stolen 
ever  me  now  and  then  during  my  courtship  of  her  cousin 
Pauline, — but  that  she  had  really  bestowed  any  of  her 
affection  on  me  unasked,  was  an  idea  that  had  never 
positively  occurred  to  my  mind.  And  now  ? . . . We 
looked  at  each  other, — she  with  a strange  pale  light  on 
her  face  such  as  I had  never  seen  there, — I amazed,  yet 
conscious  of  immense,  irreparable  loss,— loss  which  those 
words  of  hers — “ what  I once  loved  ” made  absolute 
and  eternal  ! Both  vaguely  conscience-smitten,  we  gazed 
into  one  another’s  eyes — even  so  might  two  spirits,  one  on 
the  gold  edge  of  Heaven,  the  other  on  the  red  brink  of 
Hell,  and  all  Chaos  between  them,  gaze  wistfully  and 
wonder  at  their  own  froward  fate, — aye  ! — and  such,  if 
such  there  be,  may  lean  far  out  from  either  sphere,  stretch 


286 


WORMWOOD. 


hands,  waft  kisses,  smile,  weep,  cry  aloud  each  other’s 
names, — and  yet  no  bridge  shall  ever  span  the  dark 
division, — no  ray  of  light  connect  those  self-severed  souls  l 

“ Heloise  ! ” I stammered, — and  then,  my  voice  failing 
me,  I was  silent. 

She,  moving  restlessly  where  she  sat  on  the  rustic  seat 
with  the  shadows  of  the  green  leaves  flickering  over  her, 
entwined  her  white  hands  one  within  the  other,  and  lifted 
her  large  solemn  eyes  towards  the  deep  blue  sky. 

“ There  is  no  shame  in  it  now  ” — she  said,  in  hushed 
serious  accents.  “ There  is  never  any  shame  in  what  is 
dead.  The  darkest  sin, — the  worst  crime — is  expiated  by 
death,— and  so  my  love,  being  perished,  is  no  longer  blame- 
able.  I have  not  seen  you  for  a long  time — and  perhaps 
I shall  never  see  you  again, — one  tells  many  lies  in  life, 
and  one  seldom  has  the  chance  of  speaking  the  truth, — 
but  I feel  that  I must  speak  it  now . I loved  you  ! — you 
see  how  calmly  I can  say  it — how  dispassionately — 
because  it  is  past.  The  old  heart-ache  troubles  me  no 
longer,— and  I am  not  afraid  of  you  any  more.  But 
before, — I used  to  be  afraid, — I used  to  think  you  must  be 
able  to  guess  my  secret  and  that  you  despised  me  for  it. 
You  loved  Pauline, — she  was  much  worthier  love  than  I, 
— and  I should  have  been  quite  contented  and  at  rest  had 
I felt  certain  that  she  loved  you  in  return.  But  I never 
was  certain  ; I felt  that  her  affection  was  merely  that  of  a 
playful  child  for  an  elder  brother, — I felt  sure  that  she 
knew  nothing  of  love, — love  such  as  you  had  for  her — or — > 
as  I had  for  you.  But  you — you  saw  nothing ” 

She  stopped  abruptly,  for  I suddenly  flung  myself  down 
on  the  seat  beside  her,  and  now  caught  her  hands  in 
mine. 

“ Nothing — nothing  1 ” I muttered  wildly.  “ We  men 
never  do  see  anything  ! We  are  bats, — moths ! — flying 
desperately  into  all  sorts  of  light  and  fire  and  getting 
burnt  and  withered  up  for  our  pains  ! Heloise  ! Heloise  ! 
— You  loved  me,  you  say — you  ? — Why,  just  for  the  merest 
hair’s-breadth  of  mercy  extended  to  us,  I might  have 
loved  you  ! — we  might  have  been  happy  ! Why  do  you 
pray  to  God,  Heloise? — how  can  you  pray  to  Him? 
Seeing  you,  knowing  you,  hearing  you,  why  did  He  not 
save  me  by  your  grace  as  by  an  angel’s  intervention  ? 
He  could  have  done  so  had  He  willed  it ! — and  I should 


WORMWOOD . 


287 

have  believed  in  him  then ! And  you — why  d^d  you  not 
give  me  one  look — one  word  !— why  did  you  not  employ  all 
the  thousand  charms  of  your  loveliness  to  attract  me  ? — 
why  were  you  always  so  silent  and  cold  ? — was  that  your 
mode  of  defence  against  yourself  and  me,  child?  Oh,  my 
God  ! — what  a waste  and  havoc  of  life  there  is  in  the 
world  ! Listen — there  are  plenty  of  women  who  by  a 
thousand  coquetteries  and  unmistakable  signs,  give  us 
men  plainly  to  understand  what  they  mean, — and  we 
are  only  too  ready  to  obey  their  signals — but  you — you, 
because  you  are  good  and  innocent,  must  needs  shut  up 
your  soul  in  a prison  of  ice  for  the  sake  of — what  ? Con- 
ventionality,— social  usage  ! A curse  on  conventionality  ! 
Heloise — He'loise  ! — if  I had  only  known  ! — if  I could 
have  guessed  that  I might  have  sought  your  love  and 
found  it ! — but  7iow  !■ — why  have  you  told  me  now , you  beau- 
tiful, fond,  foolish  woman,  when  it  is  too  late  ! ” 

I was  breathless  with  the  strange  excitement  that  had 
seized  me, — though  I held  myself  as  much  as  I could  in 
strong  restraint,  fearing  to  alarm  her  by  my  vehemence, — 
but  my  whole  soul  was  so  suddenly  overpowered  by  the 
extent  of  the  desolation  I myself  had  wrought,  that  I 
could  not  check  the  torrent  of  words  that  broke  from  my 
lips.  It  maddened  me  to  realize,  as  I did,  that  we  two 
had  always  been  on  the  verge  of  love  unknowingly, — and 
yet,  by  reason  of  something  in  ourselves  that  refused  to 
yield  to  the  attraction  of  each  other’s  presence,  and  some- 
thing in  the  whim  of  chance  and  circumstance,  we  had 
wilfully  let  love  go  beyond  all  possible  recall  ! And  she, 
— oh,  she  was  cold  and  calm, — or  if  she  were  not,  she  had 
the  nerve  to  seem  so, — all  your  delicately-strung  student 
women  are  like  that ; so  full  of  fine  philosophies  that  they 
are  scarcely  conscious  of  a heart ! Her  face  was  quite 
colorless, — she  looked  like  an  exquisitely  wrought  figure 
of  marble, — her  hand  lay  passively  in  mine,  chill  as  a 
frozen  snowflake. 

“ Why  ” — I repeated  half  savagely — “ why  have  you 
told  me  all  this  now,  when  it  is  too  late  ? ” 

Her  lips  trembled  apart, — but  for  a moment  no  sound 
issued  from  them.  Then  with  a slight  effort  she  answered 

me. 

“ It  is  just  because  it  is  too  late  that  I have  told  you, 

it  is  because  my  love  is  dead,  that  I have  chosen  you 


288  WORMWOOD. 

should  knov;  that  it  once  lived.  If  there  were  the  small- 
est pulse  of  life  stirring  in  it  now,  you  should  never  have 
known. ” 

And  she  withdrew  her  hand  from  my  clasp  as  she 
spoke. 

“ You  are  a strange  woman,  Heloise  ! ” I said  involun- 
tarily. 

“ Possibly  I may  be,”  she  replied,  with  a sudden  quiver 
of  passion  in  her  voice  that  added  richness  to  its  liquid 
thrill.  “ And  yet  again,  perhaps  not  as  strange  as  you 
imagine.  There  are  many  women  who  can  love  without 
blazoning  their  love  to  the  world, — there  are  many  too 
who  will  die  for  love  and  give  no  sign  of  suffering.  But  we 
need  speak  no  more  of  this.  I only  wished  to  prove  to 
you  how  impossible  it  was  that  I could  even  seriously  and 
maliciously  have  wished  you  ill, — and  to  ask  you,  for  the 
sake  of  the  past,  to  refrain  from  perpetrating  fresh  injuries 
on  your  life  and  soul.  Surely,  however  much  a man  has 
been  wronged  by  others,  he  need  not  wrong  himself ! ” 

“ If  his  life  were  of  any  value  to  any  one  in  the  world 
he  need  not  and  he  would  not,”  I responded.  But  when 
it  is  a complete  matter  cf  indifference  to  everybody 
whether  he  lives  or  dies — que  voulez-vous  ? I tell  you, 
He'lo'ise,  I have  gone  too  far  for  remedy, — even  if  you 
loved  me  now,  which  you  do  not,  you  could  not  raise  me 
from  the  depths  into  which  I have  fallen,  and  where  I am 
perfectly  contented  to  remain.” 

Her  eyes  flashed  with  mingled  indignation  and  sorrow. 

ul  thank  God  my  love  for  you  has  perished  then!” 
she  exclaimed  passionately.  “ For  had  I still  loved  you, 
it  would  have  killed  me  to  see  you  degraded  as  you  are 
to-day  ! ” 

I smiled  a little  contemptuously. 

“ Ckere  Heloi'se,  do  not  talk  of  degradation  ! ” I mur- 
mured. “ Or  if  we  must  talk  of  it, — let  us  consider  the 
fate  of — Pauline  ! ” 

She  started,  as  though  I had  stabbed  her  with  a daggers 
point. 

“ Plave  you  seen  her  ? Do  you  know  where  she  is  ? ” 
she  demanded  eagerly. 

“ Yes — and  no,”  I replied.  “ I have  seen  her  twice, — 
but  I have  not  spoken  to  her,  nor  do  I know  where  she 
lives.  I saw  her,  the  first  time,  wandering  shabbily  clad, 


WORMWOOD . 


289. 

in  the  back  streets  of  Paris  ” — Heloise  uttered  a faint  cry 
and  tears  sprang  into  her  eyes, — “ and  when  I beheld  her 
for  the  second  time,  she  was  kneeling  outside  her  father’s 
grave  at  Pere-la-Chaise.  But  I intend  to  track  her  out ; 
— I will  find  her,  wherever  she  is  ! ” 

Oh,  what  a happy  hopeful  light  swept  over  the  fair  pale 
face  beside  me  ! 

“You  will  ” she  cried.  “You  will  find  her? — you 
will  restore  her  to  her  mother  ? — to  me  ? — the  poor  poor 
unhappy  child  ? Ah,  Gaston  ! — if  you  do  this,  you  will 
surely  make  your  peace  with  God  ! ” 

I shrugged  my  shoulders. 

“ Ma  chere , there  is  time  enough  for  that!  Monsieur 
le  bon  Dieu  and  I have  not  quarrelled  that  I am  aware  of, 
— and  if  we  had,  we  should  perhaps  not  be  very  anxious 
to  renew  our  friendship ! I would  rather  make  my 
peace  with  you.  If  I find  Pauline,  will  you  love  me 
again  ? ” 

She  gave  a faint  exclamation  and  recoiled  from  me  as 
though  afraid. 

“ Oh  no  ! — never — never  ! ” she  said  shudderingly. 
“Never!  What  power  can  revive  a perished  passion, 
Gaston  Beauvais  ? Once  dead — it  is  dead  forever.  You 
are  to  me  the  merest  phantom  of  the  man  I once  adored 
in  secret, — I could  no  more  love  you  now  than  I could 
love  a corpse  long  buried  ! ” 

She  spoke  with  vehemence  and  fervor, — and  every 
pulse  in  my  body  seemed  to  rebound  with  a smarting 
sense  of  anger  against  her.  I felt  that  though  she  had  as 
she  said,  once  loved  me,  she  now  regarded  me  with  some- 
thing near  positive  aversion,  though  that  aversion  was 
mingled  with  a pity  which  I scorned.  She  was  unjust, — 
all  women  are  ! The  subtle  nerves  of  her  feminine  organ- 
ization had  been  wrenched  and  twisted  awry  by  disap- 
pointed passion  quite  as  much  as  mine  had, — and  I could 
read  and  analyze  her  emotion — I saw  she  instinctively 
despised  herself  for  ever  having  bestowed  a single  tender 
thought  on  such  a piece  of  unworthiness  as  I ! No  mat- 
ter ! — I would  meet  her  on  her  own  ground  ! — if  she  could 
not  love  me,  she  should  fear  me  ! 

“ Merci,  chere  et  belle  amie  ! ” I said  satirically.  “We 
have — for  no  reason/ that  I can  see — played  a veritable 
game  of  cat  and  mouse  together.  You  have  caught  me 
*9 


290 


WORMWOOD. 


in  your  pearly  claws — and  you  have  purred  prettily  concern- 
ing your  past  affection  for  me, — and  now  you  settle  on  me 
tooth  and  nail,  and  tear  me  into  shreds  of  hopelessness 
and  despair.  Soit  / It  is  the  way  of  women, — I do  not 
complain.  I shall,  as  I told  you,  seek  out  Pauline, — but 
if  I find  her,  do  not  imagine  I shall  restore  her  to  your 
arms  ! Pas  si  bete  ! I shall  keep  her  for  myself.  I would 
not  have  her  for  my  wife — no  ! — but  there  is  no  earthly 
objection  to  my  taking  her  as  my  mistress  ! The  idea  will 
not  shock  or  shame  her — now  I” 

With  one  swift  movement  Heloise  sprang  up  and  faced 
me — her  whole  figure  trembling  with  suppressed  emotion. 

“Oh  God!  You  would  not  be  so  base ! ” she  cried. 
“ You  could  not — you  dare  not ! ” 

I rose  in  my  turn  and  confronted  her  calmly. 

“ How  inconsistent  you  are,  Heloise  ! ” I said  indolently. 
“ Base  ! I see  nothing  base  in  such  a proposal  to  such  a 
woman  as  your  too-much-loved  young  cousin  ! She  has 
of  her  own  free-will  descended  several  steps  of  the  ladder 
of  perdition — no  force  will  be  needed  to  persuade  her 

down  to  the  end  ! You  overrate  the  case ” 

“ I tell  you  you  shall  not  harm  her  ! ” exclaimed  Heloise^ 
with  a sudden  fierceness  of  grief  and  passion.  “ I too 
have  searched  for  her  and  I will  search  for  her  still, — 
more  ardently  now  that  I know  she  must  be  defended 
from  you  / Oh,  I will  be  near  you  when  you  least  think 
it ! — I will  track  you,  I will  follow  you  ! — I will  do  anything 
to  save  her  from  the  additional  vileness  of  your  touch  ! — 
your ” 

She  paused,  breathless. 

I smiled. 

“Do  not  be  melodramatic,  ma  chere !”  I murmured 
coldly.  “ It  suits  you, — you  look  admirably  lovely  in 
anger — but  still — we  are  in  the  Bois, — and  there  may  be 
listeners.  I shall  be  charmed  if  you  will  follow  me  and 
track  me  out,  as  you  say — but, — you  will  find  it  difficult ! 
You  cannot  save  what  is  hopelessly  lost, — and  for 
6 daring ’ ! — Dieu  ! how  little  you  know  me  ! — there  is  noth- 
ing I dare  not  do, — nothing,  save  one  thing ! ” 

She  stood  still, — her  eyes  dilated, — her  breath  coming 
and  going  quickly,  her  hands  clenched, — but  she  said  not 
a word. 

You  do  not  ask  what  that  one  thing  is,”  I went  on* 


WORMWOOD. 


2$f 

keeping  my  gaze  upon  her.  “ But  I will  tell  you.  The 
limit  of  my  courage — such  as  it  is, — stops  with  you.  1 
dare  not, — mark  me  well  ! — I dare  not  affront  you,— so 
that,  however  much  my  heart  may  ache  and  hunger  for 
love,  I dare  not  love  you ! You  are  the  one  sacred  thing 
on  earth  to  me,  and  so  you  will  remain — for  I have  volun- 
tarily resigned  home  and  kindred — my  father  has  dis- 
owned me,  as  completely  as  I have  disowned  him — and 
only  .the  memory  of  your  beauty  will  cling  to  me  hence- 
forth, as  something  just  a little  less  valuable  and  sweet 
than — Absinthe” 

I laughed,  and  she  surveyed  me  amazedly. 

“ Than  absinthe  ! ” she  repeated  mechanically.  “ I do 
not  understand ” 

“•No,  I suppose  you  do  not,”  I went  on  quietly,  “you 
will  probably  never  understand  how  absmthe  can  become 
dearer  to  a man  than  his  own  life  ! It  is  very  strange  ! — 
but  in  Paris,  very  true.  You  have  been  in  dangerous 
company,  Pleloise,  to-day  ! — be  thankful  you  have  escaped 
all  harm  ! You  have  talked  of  past  love  and  passion  to  a 
man  who  has  fire  in  his  veins  instead  of  blood, — and  who, 
had  he  once  let  slip  the  leash  of  difficult  self-control  might 
have  thought  little  of  taking  his  fill  of  kisses  from  your 
lips,  and  killing  you  afterwards  ! Do  not  look  so  fright- 
ened,— I dare  not  touch  you, — I dare  not  even  kiss  your 
hand  ! You  are  free  as  angels  are, — free  to  depart  from 
me  in  peace  and  safety, — with  what  poor  blessing  a self- 
ruined  man  may  presume  to  invoke  upon  you.  But  do 
not  ask  me  to  consider  Pauline  as  I consider  you, — you 
might  as  easily  expect  me  to  pardon  Silvion  Guidel ! ” 

She  was  silent, — I think  from  sheer  terror  this  time, — 
and  a restless  inquisitiveness  stirred  in  me, — an  anxiety 
to  find  out  how  much  she  knew  concerning  the  mysteri- 
ous disappearance  of  that  once  holy  saint  of  the  Church 
whom  I had  sent  to  find  out  in  ether  worlds  the  causes  of 
his  creed  ! 

“ What  has  become  of  him,  do  you  think  ? ” I said  sud- 
denly. “ Perhaps  he  is  dead?  ” 

How  pale  she  looked  ! — how  scared  and  strange  ! 

“ Perhaps  ! ” she  murmured  half  inaudibly. 

“ Perhaps” — I went  on  recklessly, — and  laughing  as  I 
spoke, — “ Perhaps  he  is  raitrdered  ! Have  you  ever 
thought  of  that  ? It  is  quite  possible  ! ” 


WORMWOOD. 


1292 

And  at  that  instant  our  eyes  met ! What ! — was  my 
crime  blazoned  in  my  face?  I could  not  tell, — I only 
know  that  she  uttered  a smothered  cry, — an  exclamation 
of  fear  or  horror  or  both, — and  with  a movement  of  her 
hands,  as  though  she  thrust  some  hideous  object  from  her, 
she  turned  and  fled  ! I saw  the  sunlight  flash  on  her  hair 
like  the  heavenly  halo  above  the  forehead  of  an  angel, — I 
heard  the  rustle  of  her  dress  sweep  with  a swift  shudder- 
ing hiss  over  the  long  grass  that  bent  beneath  her  tread, 
— she  was  gone  ! In  her  haste  she  had  left  behind  her 
the  book  she  had  been  reading,  and  I took  it  up  mechani- 
cally. It  was  a translation  of  Plato, — it  opened  of  its 
own  accord  at  a passage  she  had  marked. 

“ When  one  is  attempting  noble  things , it  is  surely  noble 
also  to  suffer  whatever  it  may  befall  us  to  suffer .” 

Aye  i — for  the  grand  old  Greeks  this  was  truth, — but 
for  modern  men  what  does  it  avail  ? Who  attempts 
“ noble  things  ” nowadays  without  being  deemed  half  mad 
for  his  or  her  effort  ? And  as  for  suffering  there  is  surely 
enough  of  that  without  going  out  of  one’s  way  in  search 
of  it  ! Good  Plato  ! — you  are  not  in  favor  at  this  period 
of  time, — your  philosophies  are  as  unacceptable  to  our 
u advanced  ” condition  as  Christ’s  Christianity ! So  I 
thought ; — but  I took  the  volume  with  me  all  the  same, — 
it  had  the  signature  of  “ Heloise  St.  Cyr  ” — written  on  its 
fly-leaf  in  a firm  characteristic  woman’s  hand, — and  I had 
a superstitious  idea  that  it  might  act  like  a talisman  to 
shield  me  from  evil.  Folly  of  course  ! — for  there  is  no 
talisman  on  earth  or  in  heaven  that  can  defend  a man 
from  the  baser  part  of  himself.  And  to  that  baser  part  I 
had  succumbed, — and  I had  no  repentance — no  1 — not 
though  I should  have  sacrificed  the  love  of  a thousand 
women  as  fair  and  pure-souled  as  this  strange  girl  Heloise 
who  had  loved  me  once,  and  whose  love  I myself  had 
turned  into  hatred.  And  yet, — yet — I was  more  awake  to 
the  knowledge  of  my  own  utter  vileness  than  I had  ever 
been  before,  as  with  the  Plato  in  my  hand,  and  my  hat 
pulled  low  down  over  my  brows  I went  slinkingly  by  side- 
paths  and  byeways  out  of  the  Bois  like  the  accursed  thing 
I was,  accursed,  and  for  once,  fully  conscious  of  my 
curse ! 


WORMWOOD. 


29^ 


XXX. 

Weeks  went  past ; with  me  their  progress  was  scarcely 
noticed,  for  I lived  in  a sort  of  wild  nightmare  of  de- 
lirium that  could  no  more  be  called  life  than  fever  is 
called  health.  I was  beginning  to  learn  a few  of  the 
heavier  penalties  attached  to  the  passion  that  absorbed 
me, — and  the  mere  premonitory  symptoms  of  those  pen- 
alties were  terrifying  enough  to  shake  the  nerves  of  many 
a bolder  man  than^I.  I drank  more  and  more  Absinthe 
to  drown  my  sensations, — sometimes  I obtained  a stupe- 
fying result  with  the  required  relief,  but  that  relief  was 
only  temporary.  The  visions  that  now  haunted  me  were 
more  varied  and  unnatural  in  character, — yet  it  was  not  so 
much  of  visions  I had  to  complain  as  impressions . These 
were  forcible,  singular,  and  alarmingly  realistic.  For  ex- 
ample, I would  be  all  at  once  seized  by"  the  notion  that 
everything  about  me  was  of  absurdly  abnormal  propor- 
tions, or  the  reverse  ; men  and  women  would,  as  I looked 
at  them,  suddenly  assume  the  appearance  of  monsters 
both  in  height  and  breadth,  and  again,  would  reduce 
themselves  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  to  the  merest 
pigmies.  This  happened  frequently, — I knew  it  was  only 
an  impression  or  distortion  of  the  brain-images,  but  it  was 
nevertheless  troublesome  and  confusing.  Then  there 
were  the  crowds  of  persons  I saw  who  were  not  real,— 
and  whom  I classed  under  the  head  of  “visions,” — but, 
whereas  once  there  was  a certain  order  and  method  in 
the  manner  of  their  appearance,  there  was  now  none, — 
they  rushed  before  me  in  disorderly  masses,  with  faces 
and  gestures  that  were  indescribably  hideous  and  revolt- 
ing. Therefore  my  chief  aim  now  was  to  try  and  deaden 
my  brain  utterly, — I was  tired  of  the  torture  and  perplexity 
its-  subtle  mechanism  caused  me  to  suffer.  Meanwhile 
I gained  some  little  distraction  by  searching  everywhere 
for  Pauline, — this  was  the  only  object  apart  from  Absinthe 


294 


WORM  WOOD. 


that  interested  me  in  the  least.  The  rest  of  the  world 
was  the  most  tiresome  pageantry-show, — sometimes  dim 
and  indistinct — sometimes  lucidly  brilliant — but  always 
spectral, — always  like  a thing  set  apart  from  me  with 
which  I had  no  connection  whatsoever. 

So,  imperceptibly  to  my  consciousness,  the  summer 
faded  and  died, — and  autumn  also  came  to  its  sumptu- 
ously colored  end  in  a glory  of  gold  and  crimson  foliage 
which  fell  to  the  ground  almost  before  one  had  time  to 
realize  its  rich  beauty.  A chill  November  began,  attended 
with  pale  fog  and  drizzling  rain, — the  leaves,  lately  so  gay 
of  tint,  dropped  in  dead  heaps  or  drifted  mournfully  on 
the  sweeping  wings  of  the  gusty  blast, — the  little  tables 
outside  all  the  cafes  were  moved  within,  and  the  sombre- 
ness of  approaching  winter  began  to  loom  darkly  over 
Paris,  not  that  Paris  ever  cares  particularly  for  threaten- 
ing skies  or  inclement  weather,  its  bright  interior  life 
bidding  defiance  to  the  dullest  day.  If  you  have  even  a 
very  moderate  income,  just  sufficient  to  rent  the  tiniest 
maisonette  in  Paris,  you  can  live  more  agreeably  there  per- 
haps than  in  any  other  city  in  the  world.  You  are  certain 
to  have  lively  coloring  about  you — for  no  little  “apparte- 
ment  ” in  Paris  but  is  cheerful  with  painted  floral  designs, 
gilding,  and  mirrors, — if  you  be  a woman  your  admirers 
will  bring  you  white  lilac  and  orchids  in  the  middle  of 
December,  arranged  with  that  perfectly  fine  French  taste 
which  is  unequalled  throughout  the  globe, — and  on  a 
frosty  day  your  cuisiniere  will  make  you  a “ bouillon  ” such 
as  no  English  cook  has  any  idea  of, — while,  no  matter 
whether  you  be  on  the  topmost  floor  of  the  tallest  house, 
you  need  only  look  out  of  window  to  see  some  piece  of 
merriment  or  other  afoot, — for  we  Parisians,  whatever 
our  faults,  are  merry  enough, — and  even  when,  monkey- 
like, we  tear  some  grand  ideal  to  bits  and  throw  it  in  the 
gutter,  we  always  grin  over  it ! We  dance  on  graves, — 
we  snap  our  fingers  in  the  face  of  the  criminal  who  is  just 
going  to  be  guillotined — why  not  ? “ Tout  casse,  tout 

passe  ! ” — we  may  as  well  laugh  at  the  whole  Human 
Comedy  while  we  can!  Now  I,  for  example,  have  never 
been  in  England, — but  I have  read  much  about  it,  and  I 
have  met  many  English  people,  and  on  the  whole  I am 
inclined  to  admire  “ perfide  Albion”  Her  people  ale  so 
wise  in  their  generation.  When  your  English  lord  is  con- 


WORMWOOD. 


295 


scious  of  having  more  vices  in  his  composition  than  there 
are  days  in  the  year,  he  builds  a church  and  endows  a 
hospital — can  anything  be  more  excellent  ? He  becomes 
virtuous  at  once  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  at  large,  and  yet 
he  need  never  resign  one  of  his  favorite  little  peccadilloes  1 
We  do  not  manage  these  things  quite  so  well  in  France, — 
we  are  blagueurs — even  if  we  are  vicious,  nous  blaguons 
la  chose!  How  much  better  it  is  to  be  secretive 
a V Anglaise  ! — to  appear  good  no  matter  how  bad  we  are, — ■ 
to  seem  as  though  all  the  Ten  Commandments  were 
written  on  our  brows  even  while  we  are  coveting  our 
neighbor’s  wife  ! But  I digress.  I ought  to  keep  to  the 
thread  of  my  story,  ought  I not,  dear  critics  on  the 
press  ? — you  who  treat  every  narrative,  true  or  im- 
aginative, that  goes  into  print,  as  a gourmet  treats 
a quail,  leaving  nothing  on  the  plate  but  a fragment 
of  picked  bone  which  you  present  to  the  public  and 
call  it  a “ review  ! ” Ah  mes  gar$ons  ! — take  care  ! 
Do  not  indulge  your  small  private  spites  and  jeal- 
ousies too  openly  or  you  may  lose  your  occupation, 
which  though  it  only  pay  you  at  the  rate  of  half-a- 
guinea  a column,  and  sometimes  less,  is  still  an  occupa- 
tion. The  Public  itself  is  the  Supreme  Critic  now, — its 
review”  does  not  appear  in  print,  but  nevertheless  its 
unwritten  verdict  declares  itself  with  such  an  amazing 
weight  of  influence,  that  the  ephemeral  opinions  of  a few 
ill-paid  journalists  are  the  merest  straws  beating  against 
the  strong  force  of  a whirlwind.  Digression  again  ? 
Yes  ! — what  else  do  you  expect  of  an  absintheur  ? I do 
not  think  I am  more  discursive  than  Gladstone  of 
Hawarden,  or  more  flighty  than  Boulanger  of  Jersey  ! 
Allons , — I will  try  to  be  explicit  and  tell  you  how  pretty 
schoolgirl  Pauline  de  Charmilles  ended  her  troubles, — but 
I confess  I have  dallied  with  the  subject  purposely. 
Why?  Why,  because  I hate  yet  rejoice  to  think  of  it, — 
because  I dwell  on  it  with  loving  and  with  loathing, — be- 
cause it  makes  xme  laugh  with  ecstasy — and  anon,  weep 
and  tremble  and  implore  ! — though  what  I implore,  and 
to  whom  I address  any  sort  of  appeal,  I cannot  explain 
to  you.  Sometimes  cowering  on  the  ground  I wail  aloud 
— “ Oh  God — God  ! ” half  credulous,  half  despairing,-  ' 
and  then  when  the  weak  paroxysm  is  past,  and  the  pitiless 
blank  Silence  of  things  hurls  itself  down  on  my  soul  as 


WORMWOOD . 


S96 

the  crushing  answer  to  my  cry,  I rise  to  my  feet,  calm, 
tearless,  and  myself  again — knowing  that  there  is  no 
God  ! — none  at  least  that  ever  replies  to  the  shriek  of  tort- 
ure or  the  groan  of  misery.  How  strange  it  is  that  there 
are  some  folks  who  still  continue  to  pray ! 

One  cold  dark  evening, — how  minutely  I remember 
every  small  incident  connected  with  it  ! — I was  wander- 
ing home  in  my  usual  desultory  fashion,  a little  more 
heavily  drugged  than  usual,  and  in  a state  of  sublime  in- 
difference to  the  weather,  which  was  wet  and  gusty,  when 
I heard  a woman’s  voice  singing  in  one  of  the  bye-streets 
down  which  I generally  took  my  way.  There  was  some- 
thing sweet  and  liquid  in  the  thrill  of  the  notes  as  they 
rose  upward  softly  though  the  mist  and  rain, — and  I 
could  hear  the  words  of  the  song  distinctly, — it  was  a 
well-known  convent  chant  to  the  “ Guardian  Angel ; ” — 
these  heavenly  messengers  seem  rather  idle  in  the  world 
nowadays  ! 

“ Viens  sur  ton  aile,  Ange  fidele 
Prendre  mon  coeur  ! 

[ C’est  le  plus  ardent  de  mes  vceux 
Pres  de  Marie 

Place-moi  bientot  dans  les  cieux ! 

O guide  aimable,  sois  favorable 
A mon  desir 
Et  viens  finir 
Ma  triste  vie 
Avec  Marie ! ” 

A wavering  child-like  pathos  in  the  enunciation  of  the 
last  lines  struck  me  with  a sense  of  familiarity  ; — involun- 
tarily, I thought  of  Heloise  and  of  the  way  she  used  to 
play  the  violin,  and  of  the  pleasant  musical  evenings  we 
used  to  pass  all  together  at  the  house  of  the  De  Char- 
milles.  I sauntered  into  the  street  and  down  it  lazily 
— the  woman  who  sang  was  standing  at  the  side  of  the 
curbstone,  and  there  were  a few  people  about  her  listening ; 
— one  or  two  dropped  coins  in  her  timidly  outstretched 
hand.  As  I came  close  within  view  of  her  I stopped  and 
stared,  doubtful  for  a moment  as  to  her  identity, — then, 
in  doubt  no  longer,  I sprang  to  her  side. 

“Pauline!”  I exclaimed. 

She  started,  and  shuddered  back  from  me,  her  face 
growing  paler  than  ever,  her  eyes  opening  wide  in  wistful 
wander  and  fear.  The  little  group  that  had  listened  to 


WORMWOOD . 


297 

her  song  broke  up  and  dispersed, — they  had  no  particular 
interest  in  her  more  than  in  any  other  wandering  street- 
vocalist,  and  in  less  than  a minute  we  were  almost  alone. 

44  Pauline  ! ” I said  again, — then,  breaking  into  a de- 
risive laugh,  I went  on — 44  What ! — has  it  come  to  this  ? 
— you,  the  sole  daughter  of  a proud  and  ancient  house, 
singing  in  the  highways  and  the  byeways  for  bread ! 
Dieu  / — one  would  have  thought  there  were  more  com- 
fortable ways  of  earning  a living — for  you  at  any  rate  ! — 
you,  with  your  fair  face  and  knowledge  of  evil  could 
surely  have  done  better  than  this ! ” 

She  looked  at  me  steadfastly  but  made  no  answer, — 
she  was  apparently  as  amazed  and  stricken  at  the  sight 
of  me  as  her  cousin  Heloise  had  been.  Meanwhile  I 
surveyed  her  with  a swift  yet  intent  scrutiny — I noticed  her 
shabby,  almost  threadbare  clothes, — the  thin  starved  look 
of  her  figure, — the  lines  of  suffering  about  her  mouth  and 
eyes,— and  yet  with  all  this  she  was  still  beautiful, — beau- 
tiful as  an  angel  or  fairy  over  whom  the  cloud  of  sorrow 
hangs  like  blight  on  a flower. 

44  Well  ! ” I resumed  roughly,  after  waiting  in  vain  for 
her  to  speak, — 44  we  have  met  at  last,  it  seems  ! I have 
searched  for  you  everywhere — so  have  your  relatives  and 
friends.  You  have  kept  the  secret  of  your  hiding-place 
very  well  all  these  months — no  doubt  for  some  good 
reason  ! Who  is  your  lover  ? ” 

Still  the  same  steadfast  look, — the  same  plaintive  pa- 
tient uplifting  of  the  eyes  ! 

44  My  lover  ? she  echoed  after  me  softly  and  with  sur- 
prise. 44  If  you  are,  as  I suppose  you  must  be,  Gaston 
Beauvais,  then  you  know — you  have  always  known  his 
name.  Whom  can  1 love — who  can  love  me, — if  not 
Silvion  ? ” 

I laughed  again. 

44  Bien  ! You  can  love  the  dead  then?  Nay! — you 
are  too  fair  to  waste  your  beauty  thus ! A corpse  can 
give  no  caresses, — and  le  beau  Silvion  by  this  time  is 
something  less  even  than  a corpse  ! How  you  stare  ! 
Did  you  not  know  that  he  was  dead  ? ” 

Her  face  grew  gray  as  ashes, — and  rigid  in  the  extrem- 
ity of  her  fear. 

“Dead!”  she  gasped.  44  No — no!  That  could  not 
be!  Dead!  Silvion?  No,  no! — you  are  cruel — you 


WORMWOOD . 


298 

always  were  cruel — you  are  Gaston  Beauvais,  the  cruel- 
lest of  all  cruel  men,  and  you  tell  me  lies  to  torture  me  ’! 
You  were  always  glad  to  torture  me  ! — yes,  even  after  you 
had  loved  me  ! I never  could  understand  that — for  if  one 
loves  at  all,  one  always  forgives.  And  so  I do  not  believe 
you, — Silvion  is  not  dead, — he  could  not  die- — he  is  too 
young ” 

“ Oh,  little  fool ! ” — I interrupted  her  fiercely — “ do  not 
the  young  die?  The  young,  the  strong,  and  the  beautiful, 
like  your  Silvion,  are  generally  the  first  to  go  — they  are 
too  good,  say  the  old  women,  for  this  wicked  world  ! Too 
good  ! — ha  ha  ! — the  axiom  is  excellent  in  the  case  of 
Silvion  Guidel,  who  was  so  perfect  a saint  ! Come  here, 
Pauline  ” — and  I seized  her  hand.  “ Do  not  try  to  resist 
me,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you  ! One  look  at  my 
face  will  tell  you  what  I have  become, — as  vile  a man  as 
you  are  a woman — scum,  both  of  us,  on  the  streets  of 
Paris  ! Come  with  me,  I tell  you  ! Scream  or  struggle, 
and  as  sure  as  these  clouds  drop  rain  from  heaven  I will 
kill  you  ! I never  had  much  mercy  in  rny  disposition — I 
dare  say  you  remember  that: — I have  less  than  ever  now. 
There  are  many  things  I must  say  to  you, — things  which 
you  must  hear, — which  you  shall  hear ! — come  to  some 
remoter  place  than  this,  where  we  shall  not  be  noticed, — 
where  no  one  will  interrupt  us,  or  think  that  we  are  more 
than  two  beggars  discoursing  of  the  day’s  gains  ! ” 

And  clutching  her  arm  I half  dragged,  half  led  her  with 
me, — I myself  full  of  a strange  rising  fury  that  savored 
of  madness, — she  almost  paralyzed,  I think,  with  sheer 
terror.  Out  of  the  street  we  hurried, — and  passed  into  a 
small  obscure  side-alley  or  court,  from  the  corner  of  which 
could  be  perceived  the  shimmer  of  the  Seine  and  the 
lights  on  the  Pont  Neuf. 

“Now!”  I said  hoarsely,  drawing  her  by  force  up  so 
near  to  me  that  our  faces  were  close  together,  and  our 
eyes,  peering  into  each  other’s,  seemed  to  ravage  out  as 
by  fire  the  secrets  hidden  in  our  hearts — “ now  let  us  speak 
the  truth,  you  and  I, — and  since  you  were  always  the 
most  graceful  liar  of  the  two,  perhaps  you  had  best  begin  ! 
Fling  off  the  mask,  Pauline  de  Charmilles  ! — make  open 
confession,  and  so  in  part  mend  the  wounds  of  your  soul! 
— tell  me  how  you  have  lived  all  this  while  and  what  you 
have  been  doing?  I know  your  past, — I can  imagine 


WORMWOOD . 


299 

your  present ! — but — speak  out ! Tell  me  how  Paris? 
has  treated  you, — what  you  were  I can  remember, — and 
all  I want  to  know  now,  is  what  you  are /” 

How  strangely  quiet  she  had  become  ! — this  one  play- 
ful,  childish,  coquettish  creature  I had  loved ! She  never 
flinched  beneath  my  gaze, — she  never  tried  to  draw  her 
hands  away  from  mine — her  features  were  colorless,  but 
her  lips  were  firmly  set,  and  no  tears  dimmed  the  feverish 
lustre  of  her  eyes. 

“ What  I am  ? ” she  murmured  in  faint  yet  clear  accents. 
“ I am  what  I have  always  been, — a poor  broken-hearted 
woman  who  is  faithful ! ” 

Faithful ! I flung  her  hands  from  me  in  derision, — I 
stared  at  her,  amazed  at  her  effrontery. 

“ Faithful,”  I echoed.  “ You!  You,  who  sported  with 
a man’s  heart  as  though  it  were  a toy, — you,  who  ruined 
an  honest  man’s  life  to  gratify  a selfish  guilty  passion, — 
you  ! — you  dare  to  speak  of  faithfulness — you ” 

“ Stop  ! ” she  said  softly  and  with  perfect  composure. 
“ I think  you  do  not  understand, — it  is  seldom  men  can 
understand  women.  In  selfishness,  if  we  speak  of  that, 
you  are  surely  more  to  blame  than  I, — for  you  think  of 
nothing  but  your  own  wrong — a wrong  for  which,  God 
knows,  I would  have  made  any  possible  reparation.  And 
I repeat  it,  I am  faithful ! You  cannot,  you  dare  not  call 
the  woman  false  who  is  true  to  the  memory  of  the  only 
love  she  ever  yielded  herself  to,  body  and  soul ! She 
who  surrenders  her  life  to  many  lovers — she  it  is  who  is 
unfaithful — she  it  is  who  is  base, — but  not  such  an  one  as 
I ! For  I have  had  but  one  passion, — one  thought — one 
hope — one  thread  to  bind  me  to  existence, — Silvion  1 
You  know,  for  I told  you  all  the  truth,  that  my  love  was 
never  centred  upon  you, — you  know  that  I had  never 
wakened  to  the  least  comprehension  of  love  till  he, 
Silvion,  made  me  see  all  its  glory,  all  its  misery ! — and 
neither  he  nor  I are  to  blame  for  our  unhappy  destiny  ! 
Blame  Nature,  blame  Fate,  blame  God,  blame  Love  itself, 
— the  joy,  the  despair  of  it  all  was  to  be!  But  faithful- 
ness ! Ah,  Gaston  Beauvais ! — if  ever  any  woman  in  the 
world  was  faithful,  I am  that  woman  ! I can  keep  that 
one  poor  pride  to  comfort  me  when  I die  ! If,  in  these 
weary  months  any  other  man’s  hand  had  touched  mine 
with  a gesture  of  affection, — if  another  man’s  lips  had 


3°° 


WORMWOOD . 


touched  mine  with  the  lightest  caress — then, — then  you 
might  have  spurned  me  as  a vile  and  fallen  thing — then 
you  would  have  had  the  right  to  loathe  me  as  I should 
have  loathed  myself ! But  I am  as  one  vowed  and  con- 
secrated— yes ! consecrated  to  love,  and  to  love’s  com- 
panion, sorrow, — and  though  I have,  against  my  wish  and 
will,  brought  grief  to  you  and  many  who  once  were  dear 
to  me,  I am  faithful  ! — faithful  to  the  one  passion  of  my 
life,  and  I shall  be  faithful  still  until  the  end  ! ” 

Oh,  quixotic  fool ! I thought,  as  I heard  her  impas- 
sioned words  fall  one  by  one,  musically  on  the  careless 
air.  Why  she  might  have  been  a saint  for  her  fearless  and 
holy  look  ! — she  of  the  corrupt  heart  and  wayward  will — 
even  she, — it  was  laughable — she  might  have  been  a 
saint ! My  God  ! — for  one  wild  fleeting  moment  I 
thought  her  so, — for  a comparison  between  her  life  and 
mine  passed  over  me  and  caused  me  to  recoil  from  her  as 
one  unworthy  to  be  near  so  pure  a thing  ! Pure  ? — what  ? 
Because  she  had  been  true  to  her  betrayer  ? Fine  purity, 
indeed  ! — what  was  I dreaming  of  ? The  rain  and  mist 
were  dark  about  us, — no  heavenly  aureole  shone  above 
her  brows — she  was  a mere  bedraggled  wretch  with  a worn 
face,  feigning  a wondrous  honesty!  Faithful?  Faithful 
to — that  bruised  and  battered  thing  I had  flung  out  into 
the  river  with  such  infinite  trouble, — faithful, — to  that 
forbidding  lump  of  clay  thrown  long  ago  into  the  common 
grave  of  nameless  suicides!  What  a jest! — what  a 
mockery  ! I looked  at  her  as  she  stood  before  me — as 
frail  and  slight  a woman  as  ever  was  born  to  misery. 

“ So  ! ” And  with  all  this  famous  fidelity  you  boast  of, 
how  have  you  lived  ? ” I asked  her  derisively. 

“ I have  worked,”  she  replied  simply — “ and  when  I 
could  get  no  work,  I have  sung,  as  you  saw  me  to-night, 
in  the  poorer  streets, — for  the  poor  are  more  generous  than 
the  rich, — and  many  people  have  been  very  good  to  me. 
And  sometimes  I have  starved, — but  I have  always  hoped 
and  waited ” 

“ For  what  ? ” I cried.  “ Oh,  most  foolish  of  all  fool- 
ish women, — waited  and  hoped  for  what  ? ” 

“ For  one  glimpse  of  Silvion  ! ” and  she  raised  her  eyes 
with  a trustful  light  in  their  dark  blue  depths  to  the  murky 
and  discontented  heavens.  “ I have  always  felt  that 
some  day  he  would  come  to  Paris, — and  that  I should  see 


WORMWOOD. 


3°I 


his  face  once  more  ! I would  ask  him  for  nothing  but  a 
word  of  blessing, — I would  not  call  him  from  the  life  he 
has  been  compelled  to  choose,  and  I would  not  reproach 
him  for  choosing  it, — I should  be  quite,  quite  happy  just 
to  kiss  his  hand  and  let  him  go — but — I should  have  seen 
him  ! Then  I would  go  into  some  quiet  convent  of  the 
poor  and  end  my  days, — I would  pray  for  him ” 

“ Aye  1 — as  though  he  were  another  Abelard  ! ” I inter- 
rupted her  harshly.  “ Your  prayers  would  probably  take 
the  form  of  Colardeau’s  poesy — ” 

. “ ‘ Un  Dieu  parle  a mon  cceur , 

i De  ce  Dieu , ton  rival , sois  encore  le  vainqueur  ! ’ 

We  all  understand  the  ulterior  meaning  of  such  pretty 
sentiment ! What ! will  you  actually  swear  to  me  that 
you  have  lived  hidden  apart  like  this  to  work  and  starve 
on  the  mere  hope  of  seeing  your  lover  again,  when  you 
know  that  by  his  own  act  he  separated  himself  from  you 
forever  ? ” 

She  did  not  speak;  but  she  made  a sign  of  patient 
assent. 

I burst  into  laughter,  loud,  long  and  irresistible. 

“And  they  say  that  God  exists  1 ” I cried — “ a God  of 
justice, — who  allows  His  creatures  to  torment  themselves 
with  shadows  ! Oh,  sublime  justice  ! Listen,  listen,  you 
child  who  hold  fast  to  fidelity  which  nowadays  is  counted 
as  a mere  dog’s  virtue, — listen,  and  learn  from  me  what  a 
spendthrift  you  have  been  of  your  time,  and  how  you 
have  wasted  your  prayers  ! Listen — listen  ! ” and  again 
I caught  her  hands  in  mine  and  bent  my  face  downwards 
to  hers — “ Listen,  for  I am  in  the  humor  to  tell  you  every- 
thing,— everything!  You  have  spoken, — it  is  my  turn  to 
speak  now.  The  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but 
the  truth,  so  help  me  God  ! Do  you  hear  that  ? That  is 
a proper  legal  oath, — it  suffices  for  a court  of  justice  where 
not  a man  believes  in  the  God  adjured, — it  must  suffice  for 
you  who  do  believe — or  so  you  say  ! Well  then,  by  that 
oath,  and  by  everything  holy  and  blasphemous  in  this  sacred 
and  profane  world  of  ours  I swear  to  you  Silvion  Guidel 
is  dead  ! You  can  think  his  soul  is  in  heaven  if  you  like, 
— if  it  consoles  you  to  think, — but  wherever  his  soul  is, 
his  body  is  dead, — and  it  was  his  fine,  fair  body  you  knew. 


302 


WOKMWUUD. 


— his  body  you  so  loved, — you  surely  will  not  be  such  a 
hypocrite  to  deny  that ! Well  that  body  is  dead, — 
dead  and  turned  to  hideous  corruption  ! — Ha  ! — you  shud- 
der ? — you  struggle  ” — for  she  was  striving  to  tear  her  hands 
from  my  grip.  “ Perhaps  you  can  guess  how  he  died  ? 
Not  willingly,  I assure  you  1 — he  was  not  by  any  means 
glad  to  go  to  the  paradise  whose  perfect  joys  he  pro- 
claimed ! No  ! — he  was  a rebellious  priest, — he  fought 
for  every  breath  of  the  strong,  rich,  throbbing  life  that 
made  mere  manhood  glorious  to  him, — but  he  was  con- 
quered ! — he  gave  in  at  last Silence  ! — do  not  scream 

or  I shall  kill  you  ! He  is  dead,  I say ! — stone  dead  ! 

who  should  know  it  better  than  I,  seeing  that  I — murdered 

him ! ” 


WORMWOOD. 


3°3 


XXXI. 

What  fools  women  are ! To  break  their  hearts  is 
sometimes  as  easy  as  to  break  fine  glass, — a word  will 
do  it.  A mere  word ! — one  uttered  at  random  out  of 
the  thousands  in  the  dictionary.  “ Murder for  exam- 
ple,— a word  of  six  letters, — it  has  a ludicrously  appall- 
ing effect  on  human  nerves.  On  the  silly  Pauline  it  fell 
like  a thunderbolt  sped  suddenly  from  the  hand  of  God ; 
—and  down  she  dropped  at  my  feet,  white  as  snow,  inert 
as  stone.  I might  have  struck  her  across  the  brows  with 
a heavy  hammer  or  pierced  her  body  with  some  sharp 
weapon,  she  lay  so  stunned  and  helpless.  The  sight  of 
her  figure  there,  huddled  in  a motionless  heap,  made  me 
angry, — she  looked  as  though  she  were  dead.  I was  not 
sorry  for  her  ; no  ! — I was  sorry  for  nothing  now  : — but  I 
lifted  her  up  from  the  wet  pavement  in  my  arms,  and  held 
her  close  against  my  breast  in  a mechanical  endeavor  to 
warm  her  back  to  consciousness. 

“ Poor  pretty  little  toy ! ” I thought,  as  I chafed  one 
of  her  limp  cold  hands, — and  then — hardly  knowing 
what  I did,  I kissed  her.  Some  subtle  honey  or  poison, 
or  both,  was  surely  on  her  lips,  for  as  I touched  them  I 
grew  mad  ! What ! — only  one  kiss  for  me  who  had  been 
deprived  of  them  so  long?  No  ! — ten,  twenty,  a hundred  ! 
I rained  them  down  on  cheeks,  eyes,  brow  and  hair, — 
though  I might  as  well  have  kissed  a corpse,  she  was  so 
still  and  cold.  But  she  breathed, — her  heart  against 
mine, — I could  feel  its  faint  pulsations : and  I renewed 
my  kisses  with  the  ardor,  not  of  love,  but  of  hatred  ! You 
do  not  think  it  possible  to  kiss  a woman  you  hate  ? Fair 
lady! — (for  it  cannot  be  one  of  my  sex  that  suggests  the 
doubt !)  you  know  little  of  men  ! We  are,  when  roused, 
tigers  in  our  loves  and  hatreds, — and  we  are  quite  capa- 
ble of  embracing  a woman  whom  we  mentally  loathe,  so 
long  as  she  has  physical  attraction, — aye  !— the  very  fact 


3°4 


IVOAWIVGCD , 


of  our  loathing  will  often  redouble  the  fascination  we 
have  for  her  company  ! Oh,  we  are  not  all  Jath-and- 
plaster  men,  with  a stereotyped  smile  and  company  man- 
ners ! The  most  seeming-cold  of  us  have  strange  depths 
of  passion  in  our  natures  which,  if  once  stirred,  leap  into 
flame  and  destroy  all  that  is  within  our  reach.  Such  fire 
was  in  me  now  as  my  lips  almost  breathlessly  caressed 
the  fair  face  that  lay  against  my  heart  like  a white  flower, 
— and  when  at  last  the  dark  blue  eyes  opened  and  re- 
garded me,  first  with  vague  doubt  and  questioning,  then 
with  affright  and  abhorrence,  a sense  cf  the  fiercest 
triumph  was  in  me, — a triumph  which  grew  hotter  with 
every  instant,  as  I reflected  that  now — now  at  any  rate 
Pauline  was  in  my  power — I could  make  her  mine  if  I 
choose  ! — she  had  been  faithful  to  Silvion  living,  but  she 
should  not  remain  faithful  to  him  dead  ! I held  her  fast 
in  my  arms  with  all  my  strength, — with  all  my  strength  ? 
— my  strength  was  as  a reed  in  the  wind  before  the  sud- 
den access  of  superhuman  power  that  rushed  upon  her  as 
she  recovered  from  her  swoon  ! She  broke  from  my 
clasp, — she  pushed  me  violently  from  her,  and  then  stood 
irresolute,  feebly  pressing  her  hand  against  her  eyes  as 
though  in  an  effort  to  recall  her  thoughts. 

“ Silvion — dead  ! ” she  muttered, — “ dead  ! — and  I 
never  knew  ! No  warning  given — no  message-— no  spirit- 
voice  in  the  night  to  tell  me — Oh  no  1 — God  would  not  be 
so  cruel ! Dead  ! — and — murdered!  Ah  no  ! ” and  her 
accents  rose  to  a shrill  wail-— “ it  cannot  be  true  ! — it  can- 
not ! Gaston  Beauvais,  it  was  not  you  who  spoke— it 
was  some  horrid  fancy  of  my  own  ! — you  did  not  say  it — 
you  could  not  say  it ” 

She  stopped,  panting  for  breath.  My  blood  burned  as 
I looked  at  her, — in  her  agony  and  terror  she  was  so 
beautiful ! How  wild  and  brilliant  were  those  lovely 
eyes  ! — I took  a fierce  delight  in  pricking  her  on  to  such 
adorable  frenzy  ! 

“ I said,  Pauline,  what  I will  say  again,  that  your  lover 
Silvion  Guidel  is  dead,  and  that  it  was  I who  killed  him  ! 
Without  a weapon,  too, — with  these  hands  alone  ! — and 
yet  see  ! — there  is  no  blood  upon  them  ! ” 

I held  them  out  to  her, — she  craned  her  neck  forward 
and  looked  at  them  strangely,  with  a peering  horror  in 
her  eyes  that  seemed  to  make  them  fixed  and  glassy. 


WORMWOOD . 


f 


30S 

Then  a light  flashed  over  her  face — her  lips  parted  in  a 
shrill  scream. 

44  Murderer  ! ” she  cried,  clapping  her  hands  wildly, 
— 44  murderer  ! You  have  confessed — you  shall  atone! 
You  shall  die  for  your  crime — I will  have  justice  ! au 
secours  ! au  secours!  ” 

I sprang  upon  her  swiftly — I covered  her  mouth — I 
grasped  her  slim  throat  and  stifled  her  shrieks. 

44  Silence,  fool ! ” I whispered  hoarsely.  44  I told  you 
I would  kill  you  if  you  screamed.  Another  sound, 
another  movement,  and  I will  keep  my  word.  What  are 
you  shouting  for  ? — what  do  you  want  with  justice  ? 
There  is  no  such  thing,  either  in  earth  or  heaven  ! Silvion 
^juidel  is  dead  and  buried,  but  who  can  prove  that  he 
was  murdered  ? He  was  buried  as  a suicide.  If  I tell 
you  I killed  hjm,  I can  tell  others  a different  story  and 
your  denunciation  of  me  will  seem  mere  hysterical  raving! 
Be  still ! ” Here,  as  I felt  her  swaying  unsteadily  be- 
neath my  touch,  I took  my  hands  from  her  mouth  and 
throat  and  let  her  go.  She  tottered  and  sank  down  on 
the  pavement,  shuddering  in  every  limb,  and  crouching 
there,  moaned  to  herself  like  a sick  and  suffering  child. 
I waited  a minute  or  two,  listening.  Had  any  one  heard 
her  scream  ? I half  expected  some  officious  gendarme  to 
appear,  and  inquire  what  was  the  matter, — but  no  ! — noth- 
ing disturbed  the  dark  stillness  but  the  roar  of  passing 
traffic  and  the  plash  of  the  slow  rain.  Satisfied  at  last 
that  all  was  safe,  I turned  to  her  once  more,  this  time 
with  something  of  derision. 

44  Why  do  you  lie  there  ? ” I asked  her — “ you  were 
warmer  in  my  arms  a few  moments  ago  ! I have  stolen 
the  kisses  your  Silvion  left  on  those  pretty  lips  of  yours, 
— you  did  well  to  keep  them  from  the  touch  of  other 
men, — they  were  reserved  for  me  ! Fragrant  as  roses  I 
I found  them,  but  somewhat  cold  ! But  you  must  wish 
to  hear  news  of  Silvion, — let  me  tell  you  of  him.  You 
were  right, — he  did  come  to  Paris.” 

She  made  no  reply,  but  rocked  herself  to  and  fro,  still 
shivering  and  moaning. 

44  There  is  a pretty  nook  near  Suresnes  ” — I went 
on.  44  The  trees  there  have  sheltered  and  hidden  the 
shame  of  your  love  many  and  many  a time  ! There  are 
grassy  nooks,  and  the  birds  build  their  nests  to  the  sound 
20 


WORMWOOD . 


306 

of  their  own  singing,— the  river  flows  softly,  and  in  the 
early  morning  when  the  bells  are  ringing  for  mass,  the 
scene  is  fair  enough  to  tempt  even  a prude  to  wan- 
tonness. Are  you  weeping  ? Ah  ! — we  always  grow 
sentimental  over  the  scene  of  our  pleasantest  sins  ! We 
love  the  spot, — we  are  drawn  to  it  by  some  fatal  yet 
potent  fascination,  and  after  an  interval  of  absence,  we 
return  to  it  with  a lingering  fond  desire  to  see  it  once 
again.  Yes,  I know  ! — Silvion  Guidel  knew, — and  even 
so,  he,  in  good  time  returned.” 

Still  no  answer  ! Still  the  same  shuddering  movement 
and  restless  moaning. 

“ I met  him  there  ” — I pursued, — I was  beginning  to 
take  a fantastic  pleasure  in  my  own  narrative.  “ It  was 
night,  and  the  moon  was  shining.  It  must  have  looked 
different  when  you  kept  your  secret  trystes, — for  you 
chose  the  freshest  hours  of  the  day,  when  all  your  friends 
and  relatives  believed  you  were  praying  for  them  at  mass 
like  the  young  saint  you  seemed  to  be — it  was  all  sun- 
shine and  soft  wind  for  you, — but  for  me — well ! the  stars 
are  but  sad  cold  worlds  in  the  sky,  and  the  moon  has  a 
solemn  face  in  spite  of  her  associations  with  lovers, — 
and  so  I found  there  was  something  suggestive  of  death 
in  the  air  when  I chanced  upon  le  beau  Silvion  ! We 
spoke  together  ; he  had  strange  ideas  of  the  possibility 
of  mingling  his  love  with  his  sworn  duty  to  the  Church, — 
indeed,  he  seemed  to  think  that  God  would  be  on  his 
side  if  he  gave  up  his  vocation  altogether  and  returned 
to  you. — Are  you  in  pain  that  you  keep  up  such  a con- 
stant moaning  ? — But  I soon  convinced  him  that  he  was. 
wrong,  and  that  the  Divine  aid  was  always  to  be  had  for 
the  right,  providing  the  right  was  strong  enough  to  hold 
its  own  ! And  for  the  nonce,  this  strong  right  found  its 
impersonation  in  me.  We  did  not  quarrel, — there  was  no 
time  for  that.  We  said  what  we  had  to  say  and  there 
an  end.  Life, — the  life  of  a sensual  priest — presented 
itself  to  me  as  a citadel  to  be  stormed  ; — I attacked,  he 
defended  it.  I had  no  weapon — neither  had  he, — my 
hands  alone  did  the  work  of  justice.  For  it  must  have 
been  justice,  according  to  the  highest  religious  tenets, 
else  God  would  not  have  permitted  it,  and  my  strength 
would  have  been  rendered  useless  by  Divine  interpo- 
sition ! Now  in  France  they  guillotine  criminals, — in 


WORMWOOD. 


3°? 


England  they  hang  them, — in  the  East  they  strangle  them: 

■ — it  is  all  one,  so  long  as  the  business  of  breathing  is- 
stopped.  I remembered  this — and  adopted  the  eastern 
method — it  was  hard  work  I can  assure  you,  to  strangle  a 
man,  without  rope  or  bowstring  ! — it  took  me  time  to 
do  it  and  was  difficult, — also,  it  was  very  difficult  for  him. 
to  die ! ” 

“ Oh  God!”  The  cry  was  like  the  last  exclamation 
wrung  from  a creature  dying  on  the  inquisitional  rack  of 
torture, — it  was  terribleveven  to  me, — and  for  a moment 
I paused,  my  blood  chilled  by  that  awful,  despairing 
groan.  But  the  demon  within  me  urged  on  my  speech 
again,  and  I resumed  with  an  air  of  affected  indifference. 

“ All  difficulties  come  to  an  end,  of  course,  like  every- 
thing else — and  his  were  soon  terminated.  He  died  at 
last.  I flung  his  body  in  the  Seine, — well,  what  now  ? 
for  she  suddenly  sprang  erect,  and  stared  at  me  with  a. 
curiously  vague  yet  hunted  look,  like  some  trapped  wild 
animal  meditating  an  escape.  “ You  must  not  leave  me 
yet, — you  have  not  heard  all.  So! — stand  still  as  you 
are, — you  look  like  a young  tragic  muse  ! — you  are  beau- 
tiful,— quite  inspired  ! — I almost  believe  you  are  glad  to 
know  your  betrayer  is  dead ! I threw  his  body  in  the 
Seine,  I tell  you  ; and  a little  while  afterwards  I saw  it  in 
the  Morgue  ! ” — here  I begun  to  laugh  involuntarily.  “ I 
swear  I should  scarcely  have  known  the  Raffaelle-like 
Silvion  again ! Imagine  those  curved  red  lips  that  used  to 
smile  at  shadows  like  another  Narcissus,  all  twisted  and 
blue  ! — think  of  the  supple,  straight  limbs,  livid  and  swol- 
len to  twice  their  natural  size ! — by  Heaven,  it  was  astom 
ishing — amusing! — the  grossest  caricature  of  manhood, — - 
all  save  the  eyes.  They  remained  true  to  the  departed 
covetous  soul  that  had  expressed  its  base  desires  through 
them, — they  still  uttered  the  last  craving  of  the  wrenched- 
out  life  that  had  gone, — ‘ Love  ! — Love  and  Pauline  ! ’ ” 

As  I said  this  I smiled.  She  stood  before  me  like  a 
stone  image — so  still  that  I wondered  whether  she  had 
heard.  Her  hair  had  come  unbound,  and  she  fingered  a 
tress  of  it  mechanically. 

“ Love  and  Pauline  ! ” I repeated,  with  a sort  of  sat- 
isfaction in  the  enunciation  of  the  two  words — “ that  is^ 
what  those  dead  eyes  said, — that  is  what  my  heart  says- 
now  ! — Love  and  Pauline  ! Silvion  desired,  and  for  a. 


WORMWOOD. 


308 

time  possessed  both, — at  present  it  is  my  turn  ! For  he 
is  lost  in  the  common  fosse,  among  crowds  of  other  self- 
slayers,— and  you  cannot  find  even  his  grave  to  weep 
over  ! Yet — strange  to  say — I have  seen  him  many  times 
since  then ” 

The  passive  form  before  me  stirred  and  swayed  like  a 
slender  sapling  in  a gust  of  wind— and  a voice  spoke 
hoarsely  and  feebly. 

“ Seen  what  ? — seen  whom  ? ” 

“ Silvion  ! ” I answered, — my  brain  suddenly  darkening 
with  phantasmal  recollections  as  I spoke, — and,  yielding 
to  an  involuntary  sensation,  I turned  sharply  round,  just 
in  time  to  perceive  the  figure  of  a priest  outline  itself 
dimly  as  though  in  pale  phosphorescence  against  the 
dark  corner  of  the  narrow-built  court  where  we  stood. 
46  There!”  I cried  furiously.  “See  you,  Pauline? — 
There  he  is  ! — creeping  along  like  a coward  on  some  base 
errand!  I have  not  killed  him  after  all!  There! — there! 
Look  ! He  is  beckoning  you  ! ” 

She  sprang  forward, — her  eyes  blazing,  her  arms  out- 
stretched, her  lips  apart. 

“ Wher£  ? where  ? ” she  wailed.  “ Silvion  ! Silvion  ! 
Oh  no,  no!  You  torture  me! — all  is  silence — blackness 
— death  ! Oh  God — God  ! — is  there  no  mercy  ! ” 

And  suddenly  flinging  up  her  hands  above  her  head, 
she  broke  into  a loud  peal  of  discordant  delirious  laugh- 
ter and  rushed  violently  past  me  out  of  the  court. 
Horror  or  madness  lent  speed  to  her  flight,  for  though  I 
followed  her  close  I could  not  get  within  touch  of  her. 
The  rain  and  mist  seemed  to  enfold  her  as  she  fled,  till 
she  looked  like  a phantom  blown  before  me  by  the  wind ; 
- — once  in  the  open  thoroughfare,  one  or  two  passengers 
stopped  and  stared  after  her  as  she  ran,  and  after  me  too, 
doubtless  ; — but  otherwise  gave  no  heed  to  our  headlong 
progress.  Straight  on  she  rushed, — straight  to  the  Pont 
Neuf,  which  on  this  wet  and  dreary  night  was  vacant  and 
•solitary.  I accelerated  my  steps, — I strained  every  nerve 
and  sinew  to  overtake  her,  but  in  vain.  She  was  like  a 
leaf  in  a storm, — hurled  onwards  by  temporary  insanity, 
she  seemed  literally  to  have  wings — to  fly  instead  of  to 
run — but  half-way  across  the  bridge,  she  paused.  One 
flitting  second — and  she  sprang  on  the  parapet ! 

“ Pauline  ! ” I cried.  “ Wait ! Pauline  ! ” 


WORMWOOD . 


309, 

She  never  turned  her  head, — she  raised  her  hands  to 
heaven  and  clasped  them  as  though  in  supplication, — 
then — she  threw  herself  forward,  as  swiftly  as  a bird  pinion- 
ing its  way  into  space.  One  small,  dull  splash  echoed  on 
the  silence, — she  was  gone ! I reached  the  spot  a mo- 
ment after  she  had  vanished, — I leaned  over  the  parapet, 

• — I peered  down  into  the  gloomy  water  ; — nothing  there  l 
Nothing  but  blank  stillness — blank  obscurity  ! 

“ Pauline  ! ” I muttered.  “ Little  Pauline  ! 

Then,  as  I strained  my  sight  over  the  monotonous 
width  of  the  river,  I saw  a something  lift  itself  into  view, — . 
a woman’s  robe  blew  upwards  and  outwards  like  a dark, 
wet  sail — it  swirled  round  once — twice — thrice, — and  then 
it  sank  again  ! . . . My  teeth  chattered, — I clung  to  the 
stone  parapet  to  prevent  myself  from  falling.  And  yet  a 
horrible  sense  of  amusement  stirred  within  me, — the 
satirical  amusement  of  a fiend  ! — it  seemed  such  a ludi- 
crous thing  to  consider  that,  after  all,  this  weak,  fragile 
child  had  escaped  me, — had  actually  gone  quietly  away 
where  I could  not,  dared  not  follow ! 

“ Pauline  ! ” I whispered.  “ Tell  me, — what  is  death 
like?  Is  it  easy?  Do  you  know  anything  about  love 
down  there  in  the  cold  ? Remember  my  kisses  were  the 
last  on  your  lips, — mine,  not  Silvion’s  ! God  Himself 
cannot  undo  that! — all  Eternity  cannot  alter  that!  They 
will  burn  you  in  hell,  they  will  taint  you  in  heaven,  those 
kisses  of  mine,  Pauline  ! They  will  part  you  from  Silvion  ! 
— ah! — -there  is  their  chiefest  sting!  You  shall  not  be 
with  him, — I say  you  shall  not ! 99 — and  I almost  shrieked, 
as  the  idea  flashed  across  my  perverted  brain  that  perhaps 
after  all  the  poets  were  right,  and  that  lovers  who  loved 
and  were  faithful,  met  in  the  sight  of  a God  who  forgave 
them  there  love  and  were  happy  together  forever.  “ May 
the  whole  space  of  heaven  keep  you  asunder  ! — may  the 
fire  of  God’s  breath  sow  the  whirlwind  between  you — may 
you  wander  apart  and  alone,  finding  paradise  empty,  and 
all  immortality  worthless  and  wearisome — every  kiss  of 
mine  on  your  lips  be  a curse,  Pauline — a curse  by  which 
I shall  claim  your  spirit  hereafter  ! ” 

Gasping  for  articulate  speech,  the  wild  imprecation  left 
my  lips  without  my  realizing  my  own  utterance  ; I was 
giddy  and  faint, — my  temples  throbbed  heavily — the  blood 
rushed  to  my  brain, — the  sky,  the  trees,  the  houses,  the- 


WORMWOOD. 


310 

bridge  rushed  round  and  round  me  in  dark  whirling  rings. 
All  at  once  my  throat  filled  with  a cold  sense  of  suffoca- 
tion,— tears  flooded  my  eyes,  and  I broke  into  a loud  sob 
of  fiercest  agony. 

“ Pauline  ! Pauline  ! ” I cried  to  the  hushed  and 
dreary  waters, — “ I loved  you!  You  broke  my  heart! 
You  ruined  my  life  ! You  made  me  what  I am  ! Pauline  ! 
Pauline  ! I loved  you  ! ” 

The  wind  filled  my  ears  with  a dull  roaring  noise, — 
something  black  and  cloudy  seemed  to  rise  palpably  out 
of  the  river  and  sway  towards  me, — the  pale,  stern  face  of 
Silvion  Guidel  came  between  me  and  the  murky  skies, — 
and  with  a faint  groan,  and  a savor  as  of  blood  in  my 
mouth,  I lost  my  hold  on  thought  and  action  and  reeled 
down  into  utter  darkness,  insensible. 


i 

JS 


WORMWOOD. 


31* 


XXXIX. 

Dull  gray  lines  with  flecks  of  fire  between  them, — fire 
that  radiated  into  all  sorts  of  tints, — blue,  green,  red,  and 
amber, — these  were  the  first  glimmerings  of  light  on  my 
sense  of  vision  that  roused  me  anew  to  consciousness. 
Vaguely,  and  without  unclosing  my  eyes  I studied  these 
little  points  of  flame  as  they  danced  to  and  fro  on  their 
neutral  gray  background  ; — then,  a violent  shivering  fit 
seized  me,  and  I stirred  languidly  into  my  wretched  life 
once  more.  It  was  morning, — very  early  morning — and  I 
w^as  still  on  the  Pont  Neuf,  lying  crouched  close  to  the 
parapet  like  any  hunted,  suffering  animal.  The  mist  of 
dawn  hung  heavily  over  the  river,  and  a few  bells  were 
ringing  lazily  here  and  there  for  early  mass.  I struggled 
to  my  feet, — pushed  my  tangled  hair  from  my  eyes,  and 
strove  hard  to  realize  what  had  happened.  Little  by  little 
I unravelled  my  knotted  thoughts,  and  grasped  at  the  cen- 
tral solution  of  their  perplexity, — namely,  this  : Pauline 
was  drowned  ! Pauline, — even  she  ! — the  little  fairy  thing1 
that  had  danced  and  sung  and  flirted  and  prattled  of  her 
school  at  Lausanne  and  her  love  of  marrons  glach — 
even  she  had  become  a tragic  heroine,  wild  as  any  Julitt 
or  Francesca ! How  strange  it  seemed  ! — as  the  critics 
would  say — how  melodramatic  ! For  we  are  supposed  to 
be  living  in  very  commonplace  days, — though  truly  this 
is  one  of  the  greatest  errors  the  modern  wise-acres  ever 
indulged  in.  Never  was  there  a period  in  which  there  was 
so  much  fatal  complexity  of  thought  and  discussion  ; never 
was  there  a time  in  which  men  and  women  were  so  prone 
to  analyze  themselves  and  the  world  they  inhabit  with 
more  pitiless  precision  and  fastidious  doubt  and  argument  ^ 
and  this  tendency  creates  such  strange  new  desires,  such 
subtle  comparisons,  such  marvellous  accuracy  of  per- 
ception, such  discontent,  such  keen  yet  careless  valuation 
of  life  at  its  best,  that  more  romances  and  tragedies  are 


won  M WO  OD. 


312 

enacted  now  than  Sophocles  ever  dreamed  of. . They  are 
performed  without  any  very  great  eclat  or  stage-effects, — 
for  we  latter-day  philosophers  hate  to  give  grand  names 
to  anything,  our  chief  object  of  study  being  to  destroy  ail 
ideals, — hence,  we  put  down  a suicide  to  temporary  in- 
sanity, a murder  to  some  hereditary  disposition,  or  wrong 
balance  of  molecules  in  the  brain  of  the  murderer, — and  love 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  passions  to  a little  passing  heat  of 
the  blood.  All  disposed  of  quite  quietly  ! Yet  suicides 
are  on  the  increase, — so  are  murders  ; and  love  and 
revenge  and  hatred  and  jealousy  run  on  in  their  old  pre- 
destined human  course,  caring  nothing  for  the  names  we 
give  them,  and  making  as  much  havoc  as  ever  they  did  in 
the  days  of  Caesar  Borgia.  To  /nodern  casuists,  however, 
Pauline  would  but  seem  “ temporarily  insane  ” — and 
during  that  fit  of  temporary  insanity  she  had  drowned  her- 
self— voila  tout ! 

Any  way  she  was  dead ; — that  was  the  chief  thing  I had 
to  realize  and  to  remember, — but  with  its  usual  obstinacy 
my  brain  refused  to  credit  it ! The  mists  rose  slowly  up 
from  the  river — the  church  bells  ceased  ringing ; a chill 
wind  blew.  I shuddered  at  the  pure  cold  air — it  seemed 
to  freeze  my  blood.  I looked  abstractedly  at  the  river, 
and  my  eyes  lighted  by  chance  on  a long  low  flat  building 
not  far  distant — the  Morgue.  Ah  ! Pauline, — if  it  were 
indeed  she  who  had  been  “ melodramatic  ” enough  to 
drown — Pauline  would  be  taken  to  the  Morgue — and  I 
should  see  her  there.  A little  patience, — a day,  perhaps 
two  days, — and  I should  see  her  there ! 

Meanwhile,  I was  cold  and  tired  and  starved  ; I would 
go  home, — home  if  I could  walk  there, — if  my  limbs  were 
not  too  weak  and  stiff  to  support  me.  Oh,  for  a draught 
of  Absinthe  ! — that  would  soon  put  fire  into  my  veins  and 
warm  the  numbness  of  my  heart  ! I paused  a moment, 
still  gazing  at  the  dull  water  and  the  dull  mists  ; then  all 
at  once  a curious  sick  fear  began  to  creep  through  me, — 
on  awful  premonition  that  something  terrible  was  about 
to  happen,  though  what  it  was  I could  not  imagine.  My 
heart  began  to  beat  heavily  ; — I kept  my  eyes  riveted  on 
the  scene  immediately  opposite,  for  while  the  sensation  I 
speak  of  mastered  me,  I dared  not  look  behind . Presently 
I distinctly  heard  a low  panting  near  me  iike  the  breath- 
ing of  some  heavy  creature, — and  my  nervous  dread  grew 


WORMWOOD. 


3*3 

stronger.  For  a moment  I felt  that  I would  rather  fling 
myself  into  the  Seine  than  turn  my  head  ! It  was  an 
absurd  sensation, — a cowardly  sensation  ; one  that  I knew  I 
ought  to  control  and  subdue,  and  after  a brief  but  painful 
contest  with  myself  I gathered  together  a slight  stock,  not 
of  actual  courage  but  physical  bravado, — and  slowly,  irres- 
olutely looked  back  over  my  own  shoulder, — then,  un- 
speakably startled  and  amazed  at  what  I saw,  I turned  my 
whole  body  round  involuntarily  and  confronted  the  formi- 
dable beast  that  lay  crouched  there  on  the  Pont  Neuf, watch- 
ing me  with  its  sly  green  eyes  and  apparently  waiting  on 
my  movements.  A leopard  of  the  forest  at  large  in  the 
heart  of  Paris  ! — could  anything  be  more  strange  and  hid- 
eously terrifying  ? I stared  at  it, — it  stared  at  me  ! I 
could  almost  count  the  brown  velvet  spots  on  its  tawny 
hide, — I saw  its  lithe  body  quiver  with  the  pulsations  of 
its  quick  breath, — and  for  some  minutes  I was  perfectly 
paralyzed  with  fear  and  horror  ; — afraid  to  stir  an  inch  1 
Presently,  as  I stood  inert  and  terror-stricken,  I heard 
steps  approaching,  and  a laborer  appeared  carrying  some 
tin  cans  which  clinked  together  merrily, — he  whistled  as 
he  came  along,  and  seemed  to  be  in  cheerful  humor.  I 
watched  him  anxiously.  What  would  he  do, — what  would 
he  say  when  he  caught  sight  of  that  leopard  lying  on  the 
bridge,  obstructing  his  progress  ? Onward  he  marched 
indifferently, — -and  my  heart  almost  ceased  to  beat  for  a 
second  as  I sawr  him  coming  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
horrible  creature.  . . . What ! — was  he  blind  ? — Could 
he  not  see  the  danger  before  him  ? I strove  to  cry  out, — 
but  my  tongue  was  like  stiff  leather  in  my  mouth, — I could 
not  utter  a syllable  ; — and  lo  ! — while  my  fascinated  gaze 
still  rested  on  him  he  had  passed  me  ! — passed  apparently 
vver  or  through  the  animal  I saw  and  dreaded  ! 

The  truth  flashed  upon  me  in  an  instant, — I was  the 
dupe  of  my  own  frenzy — and  the  leopard  was  nothing  but 
a brain-phantasm  ! I laughed  aloud,  buttoned  my  coat 
close  over  me  and  drew  myself  erect, — as  I did  this,  the 
leopard  rose  with  slow  and  stealthy  grace,  and  when  I 
moved  prepared  to  follow  me.  Again  I looked  at  it — 
again  it  looked  at  me, — again  I counted  the  spots  on  its 
sleek  skin,— the  thing  was  absolutely  real  and  distinct  to 
my  vision, — was  it  possible  that  a diseased  brain  could 
produce  such  seemingly  tangible  shapes  ? I began  to 


3*4 


WORMWOOD . 


walk  rapidly, — and  another  peculiarity  of  my  hallucination 
discovered  itself, — namely,  that  before  me  as  I looked  I saw 
nothing  but  the  usual  surroundings  of  the  streets  and  the 
passing  people, — but  behind  me  I knew,  I felt  the  horrible 
monster  at  my  heels, — the  monster  created  by  my  own 
poisoned  thought, — a creature  from  whom  there  was  no 
possible  escape.  The  enemies  of  the  body  we  can  physi- 
cally attack,  and  often  physically  repel, — but  the  enemies 
of  the  mind, — the  frightful  phantoms  of  a disordered  im- 
agination—these  no  medicines  can  cure,  no  subtle  touch 
disperse. 

And  yet  I could  not  quite  accept  the  fact  of  the  nerv- 
ous havoc  wrought  upon  me.  I saw  a boy  carrying  a 
parcel  of  Figaros  to  a neighboring  kiosque — and  stop- 
ping him,  I purchased  one  of  his  papers. 

“Tell  me,”  I then  said,  lightly  and  with  a feigned  in- 
difference. “ Do  you  see  a — a great  dog  following  me  ? 
I chanced  upon  a stray  one  on  the  Pont  Neuf  just  now, 
but  I don’t  want  it  at  my  lodgings.  Can  you  see  it  ? ” 

The  boy  looked  up  and  down  and  smiled. 

u Je  ne  vois  rien , monsieur  I ” 

“ Merci  ! ” and  nodding  to  him  I strolled  away,  resolved 
not  to  look  back  again  till  I reached  my  own  abode. 

Once  there,  I turned  round  at  the  door.  The  leopard 
was  within  two  inches  of  me.  I kept  a backward  watch 
on  it,  as  it  followed  me  in,  and  up  the  stairs  to  my  room. 
I shut  the  door  violently  in  a frantic  impulse  of  hope  that 
I might  thus  shut  it  out, — of  course  that  was  useless, — 
and  when  I threw  myself  into  a chair,  it  lay  down  on  the 
floor  opposite  me.  Then  I realized  that  my  case  was 
one  in  which  there  could  be  no  appeal, — it  was  no  use 
fighting  against  spectra . The  only  thing  to  be  done  was 
to  try  and  control  the  frenzy  of  fear  that  every  now  and 
then  threatened  to  shake  down  all  reason  and  coherency 
forever  and  make  of  me  a mere  howling  maniac.  I 
tried  to  read, — but  found  I could  not  understand  the 
printed  page, — I found  more  distraction  in  thinking  of 
Pauline  and  her  death, — if  indeed  she  were  dead.  Then, 
all  unbidden,  the  memory  of  the  fair  and  innocent 
Heloise  came  across  my  mind.  Should  I go  and  tell  her 
that  I had  had  a strange  dream  in  which  it  seemed  as 
though  I had  frightened  Pauline  into  drowning  her- 
self ? No  ! — I would  wait ; — I would  wait  and  watch  the 


WOXMWdon. 


315 

Morgue, — for  till  I saw  her  there  I could  not  be  sure  she 
was  dead.  Anon,  a fragment  of  that  old  Breton  song  Heloise 
used  to  recite  repeated  itself  monotonously  in  my  ears — 

“ Mon  etoile  est  fatale 
Mon  etat  est  contre  nature, 

Je  n’ai  eu  dans  ce  monde 
Que  des  peines  a endurer ; 

Nul  chretien  sur  la  terre 
Me  veuille  du  bien ! ” 

I hummed  this  over  and  over  again  to  myself  till  I 
began  to  shed  maudlin  tears  over  my  own  wretched  con- 
dition ; I had  brought  myself  to  it, — but  what  of  that  ? — 
the  knowledge  did  not  ameliorate  matters.  If  you  know 
you  have  done  ill,  say  the  moralists,  you  have  gained 
the  greatest  possible  advantage,  because  knowing  your 
evil  you  can  amend  it.  Very  wise  in  theory  no  doubt  !— 
but  no  use  in  practice,  /could  not  eliminate  the  poison- 
ous wormwood  from  my  blood, — I was  powerless  to  ob- 
literate from  my  sight  that  repulsive  spectral  animal  that 
lay  before  me  in  such  seemingly  substantial  breathing 
guise.  And  so  I wept  weakly  and  foolishly  as  a drivel- 
ing drunkard  weeps  over  his  emptied  flagon, — and 
thought  vaguely  of  all  sorts  of  things.  I even  wondered 
whether,  notwithstanding  my  having  gone  so  far,  there 
might  not  yet  be  a remedy  for  me — why  not  ? — there  was 
a Charcot  in  Paris — no  man  wiser, — no  man  kinder. 
But  suppose  I went  to  him,  what  would  be  the  result. 
He  would  tell  me  to  give  up  absinthe.  Give  up  ab- 
sinthe ? — why  then,  I should  give  up  my  life  ! — I should 
die ! — I should  be  taken  away  to  that  terrible  unknown 
country  whither  I had  sent  Silvion  Guidel, — where  Pauline 
had  followed  him — and  I had  no  wish  to  go  there  ; — I 
might  meet  them,  so  I stupidly  fancied,  and  it  was  too 
soon  for  such  a meeting — yet!  No! — I could  not  give 
up  Absinthe, — my  fairy  with  the  green  eyes,  my  love,  my 
soul,  my  heart’s  core,  the  very  centre  and  pivot  of  my  be- 
ing ! — anything  but  that  I would  do  gladly  ! — but  not  that, 
— never,  never  that ! Pah  ! how  that  leopard  stared  at 
me  as  I sat  glowering  and  thinking,  and  pulling  at  the 
ends  of  my  moustache,  in  a sort  of  dull  stupor, — the 
stupor  of  mingled  illness  and  starvation.  For  I had 
eaten  nothing  since  the  previous  day,  and  though  I was 


WORMWOOD. 


3t6 

faint,  it  was  not  the  faintness  of  natural  hunger.  That  is 
another  peculiarity  of  my  favorite  cordial, — taken  in 
small  doses  it  may  provoke  appetite, — but  taken  in  large 
and  frequent  draughts,  it  invariably  kills  it.  The  thought 
of  food  attracted  yet  nauseated  me,  and  so  I remained 
huddled  up  in  my  chair  engrossed  in  my  own  reflections, 
the  nervous  tears  still  now  and  then  trickling  from  my 
eyes  and  dropping  like  slow  hot  rain  on  my  closely 
clenched  hands. 

The  sound  of  a bugle-note  startled  me  for  a moment, 
and  sent  my  thoughts  flying  off  among  fragmentary  sug- 
gestions of  national  pride  and  military  glory.  France  ! 
France  ! — oh,  fair  and  radiant  France  ! — how  canst  thou 
smile  on  in  the  faces  of  such  degenerate  children  as  are 
clambering  at  thy  knees  to-day  ! Oh,  France  ! — what 
glories  were  thine  in  old  time ! — what  noble  souls  were 
born  of  thee  ! — what  white  flags  of  honor  waved  above  thy 
glittering  . hosts  ! — what  truth  and  chivalry  beat  in  the 
hearts  of  thy  sons,  what  purity  and  sweetness  ruled  the 
minds  of  thy  daughters  ! The  brilliancy  of  native  wit,  of 
inborn  courtesy,  of  polished  grace,  were  then  the  natural 
outcome  of  naturally  fine  feelings  ; — but  now, — now  ! — 
what  shall  be  said  of  thee,  O France,  who  hast  suffered 
thyself  to  be  despoiled  by  conquerors  and  art  almost  for- 
getnog  thy  vows  of  vengeance  ! Paris,  steeped  in  vice 
and  drowned  in  luxury,  feeds  her  brain  on  such  loath- 
some literature  as  might  make  even  coarse-mouthed 
Rabelais  and  Swift  recoil, — day  after  day,  night  after 
night,  the  absinthe-drinkers  crowd  the  cafes , and  swill  the 
pernicious  drug  that  of  all  accursed  spirits  ever  brewed 
to  make  of  man  a beast,  does  most  swiftly'fly  to  the  seat 
of  reason  to  there  attack  and  dethrone  it ; — and  yet,  the 
rulers  do  nothing  to  check  the  spreading  evil, — the  world 
looks  on  purblind  as  ever  and  selfishly  indifferent, — and 
the  hateful  cancer  eats  on  into  the  breast  of  France, 
bringing  death  closer  every  day.  France  ! — my  France  ! 
degraded,  lost,  and  cowardly  as  I am, — too  degraded,  too 
lost,  too  cowardly  to  even  fight  in  the  lowest  ranks  for 
thee,  there  are  moments  when  I am  not  blind  to  thy 
glories,  when  I am  not  wholly  callous  as  to  thy  fate ! I 
love  thee,  France  ! — love  thee  with  the  foolish,  powerless 
love  that  chained  and  beaten  slaves  may  feel  for  their 
native  land  when  exiled  from  it, — a love  that  cannot  prove 


WORMWOOD. 


3*7 


its  strength  by  any  great  or  noble  act, — that  can  do  noth- 
ing,— nothing  but  look  on  and  watch  thee  slipping  like  a 
loosened  jewel  out  of  the  blazing  tiara  of  proud  nations, 
— and  watching,  know  most  surely  that  /,  and  such  as  7, 
have  shaken  thee  from  what  thou  wert,  and  what  thou 
still  shouldst  be  ! “ Aux  armes , citoyens  ! ” / cry  stupidly, 
as  my  patriotic  reverie  breaks  in  my  brain  like  a soap- 
bubble  in  air, — “ Formez  vos  bataillons  !” 

Ah  God  ! — I start  from  my  chair,  staggering  to  and  fro, 
my  head  clasped  between  my  hands ; — I am  dreaming 
again,  like  a fool  ! — dreaming, — and  here  I am,  an  absin- 
theur  in  the  city  of  Absinthe,  and  glory  is  neither  for  me, 
nor  for  thee,  Paris,  thou  frivolous,  lovely,  godless,  las- 
civious dominion  of  Sin!  Godless! — and  why  not? — 
sinful  ! — and  why  not  ? God  did  not  answer  us  when  we 
prayed,- — He  was  on  the  side  of  the  Teutons.  And  we 
have  found  out  that  when  we  try  to  be  good,  life  is  hard 
and  disagreeable ; when  we  are  wicked,  or  what  moralists 
consider  wicked,  then  we  find  everything  pleasant  and 
easy.  Some  people  find  the  reverse  of  this,  or  so  they 
say, — well ! — they  are  quite  welcome  to  be  virtuous  if 
they  choose.  I.  tried  to  be  virtuous  once,  and  with  me  it 
failed  to  prove  its  advantages.  I loved  a woman  honestly , 
and  was  betrayed  ; another  man  loved  the  same  woman 
*/Ahonestly  and — kept  her  faith  ! This  was  God’s  doing 
(because  everything  is  done  by  the  will  of  God)  therefore 
you  see  it  was  no  use  my  striving  to  be  honest ! False 
arguments  ? specious  reasoning  ? — not  at  all ! I have  the 
logic  of  an  absintheur  ! voila  tout t 

That  leopard  again  ! — By-and-bye  I began  to  find  a 
certain  wretched  amusement  in  watching  the  sunlight  play 
on  the  smooth  skin  of  this  undesired  spectral  attendant, 
and  I endeavored  to  accept  its  presence  with  resignation. 
After  a while  I discovered  that  when  I remained  passive 
m one  place  for  some  time,  the  hallucination  was  brought 
forward  in  front  of  my  eyes, — whereas  when  I walked  or 
was  otherwise  in  rapid  motion  it  was  only  to  be  seen 
behind  me.  Let  scientists  explain  this  if  they  can,  by 
learned  dissertations  on  the  nerve-connections  between  the 
spine  and  brain-cells,  the  fact  remains  that  the  impression 
created  upon  me  of  the  actual  palpable  presence  of 
the  animal  was  distinct  and  terribly  real , — and  though 
JaAer  on  I found  I could  pass  my  hand  through  its  shin* 


WORMWOOD. 


Zl  8 

in g substance,  the  conviction  of  Us  reality  never  left  me. 
Nor  is  there  much  chance  of  its  ever  leaving  me, — it  is 
with  me  now,  and  will  probably  continue  to  haunt  me  to 
my  dying  day.  I walk  through  Paris  apparently  alone, 
but  the  huge,  panting,  stealthy  thing  is  always  close 
behind  me, — my  ears  as  well  as  my  eyes  testify  to  its 
presence, — I sit  in  cafes  and  it  lies  down  in  front  of  me 
and  we — the  spectre  and  I — stare  at  each  other  for  hours  ! 
People  say  I have  a downward  look, — sometimes  they  ask 
why  I so  often  give  a rapid  glance  behind  me  as  though 
in  fear  or  anxiety  ; — well ! — it  is  because  I always  have  a 
vague  hope  that  this  phantasmal  horror  may  go  as  sud- 
denly as  it  came — but  it  never  does — it  never  will ! Andre 
Gessonex  used  to  peer  behind  him  in  just  the  same 
fashion, — I remembered  it  now,  and  understood  it.  And  I 
idly  wondered  what  sort  of  creature  the  Absinthe-fairy 
had  sent  to  kirn  so  persistently  that  he  should  have  seen 
no  way  out  of  it  but  suicide.  Now  / had  the  courage  of 
endurance, — or  let  us  say,  the  cowardice  ; for  I could  not 
bear  the  thought  of  death, — it  was  the  one  thing  that  ap- 
palled me.  For  I so  grasped  the  truth  of  the  amazing 
fecundity  of  life  everywhere,  that  I knew  and  felt  death 
could  not  be  a conclusion, — but  only  the  silence  and  time 
needed  for  the  embryo-working  of  another  existence.  And 
on  that  other  existence  I dared  not  ponder ! Oh,  if  there 
is  one  thing  I rate  at  in  the  Universe  more  than  another, 
it  is  the  uncertainty  of  Creation’s  meaning.  Nature  is  a 
great  mathematician,  so  the  scientists  declare — then  why 
is  the  chief  number  in  the  calculation  always  missing  > 
Why  is  it  that  no  matter  how  we  count  and  weigh  and 
plan,  we  can  never  make  up  the  sum  total  ? There  is 
surely  a fault  somewhere  in  the  design, — and  perchance 
the  great  unseen,  silent,  indifferent  Force  we  call  God, 
has,  in  a dull  moment,  propounded  a vast  Problem  to 
which  He  Himself  may  have  forgotten  the  Answer  \ 


WORMWOOD. 


3*£ 


XXXIII. 

During  the  next  two  days  I lived  for  the  Morgue,  and 
the  Morgue  only.  I could  not  believe  Pauline  was  dead 
till  I saw  her  there, — there  on  the  wet  cold  marble  where 
her  lover  had  lain  before  her.  I haunted  the  place, — I 
skulked  about  it  at  all  hours  like  a thief  meditating 
plunder.  And  at  last  my  patience  was  rewarded.  An 
afternoon  came  when  I saw  the  stretcher  carried  in  from 
the  river’s  bank  with  more  than  usual  pity  and  reverence, — 
and  I,  pressing  in  with  the  rest  of  the  morbid  spectators,  saw 
the  fair,  soft,  white  body  of  the  woman  I had  loved  and 
hated  and  maddened  and  driven  to  her  death,  laid  out  on 
the  dull  hard  slab  of  stone  like  a beautiful  figure  of  frozen 
snow.  The  river  had  used  her  tenderly — poor  little 
Pauline  1 — it  had  caressed  her  gently  and  had  not  dis- 
figured her  delicate  limbs  or  spoilt  her  pretty  face, — she 
looked  so  wise,  so  sweet  and  calm,  that  I fancied  the  cold 
and  muddy  Seine  must  have  warmed  and  brightened  to 
the  touch  of  her  drowned  beauty  ! 

Yes  ! — the  river  had  fondled  her  ! — had  stroked  her 
cheeks  and  left  them  pale  and  pure, — had  kissed  her  lips 
and  closed  them  in  a childlike  happy  smile, — had  swept 
all  her  dark  hair  back  from  the  smooth  white  brow  just  to 
show  how  prettily  the  blue  veins  were  pencilled  under  the 
soft  tiansparent  skin, — had  closed  the  gentle  eyes  and 
deftly  pointed  the  long  dark  lashes  in  a downward  sleepy 
fringe — and  had  made  of  one  little  dead  girl  so  wondrous 
and  piteous  a picture,  that  otherwise  hard-hearted  women 
sobbed  at  sight  of  it,  and  strong  men  turned  away  with 
hushed  footsteps  and  moistened  eyes.  The  very  officials 
at  the  Morgue  were  reverent, — they  stood  apart  and 
looked  on  solemnly, — one  of  them  raised  the  tiny  white 
hand  and  examined  a ring  on  the  finger,  a small  enamel 
forget-me-not  in  gold,  and  seemed  about  to  draw  it  off, 
but  on  second  thoughts  left  it  where  it  was.  / knew  that 


320 


WORMWOOD. 


ring  well, — Heloise  had  given  it  to  her — it  was  a trinket 
for  which  she  had  always  had  a sentimental  fondness 
such  as  girls  often  indulge  in  for  perfectly  worthless 
souvenirs.  I stared  and  stared, — I gloated  on  every 
detail  of  that  delicate,  half-nude  form, — and  my  brain 
was  steady  enough  to  remind  me  that  now — now  it  was 
my  duty  to  identify  the  poor  little  corpse  without  a mo- 
ment’s delay,  so  that  it  might  be  borne  reverently  to  the 
care  of  the  widowed  Comtesse  de  Charmilles  and  Heloise 
St.  Cyr.  Then  it  would  receive  proper  and  honorable 
interment, — and  Pauline,  like  Shakespeare’s  Ophelia 
would  have 

“ Her  maiden  strewments,  and  the  bringing  home 
Of  bell  and  burial.” 

But  no  ! — I put  away  the  suggestion  as  soon  as  it 
occurred  to  me.  I took  a peculiar  delight  in  thinking 
that  if  her  body  were  not  identified  within  the  proper  inter- 
val, she  too,  like  her  lover,  Silvion  Guidel,  would  be  cast 
into  the  general  ditch  of  death,  without  a name,  without 
a right  to  memory  ! My  deformed  and  warped  intelli- 
gence found  a vivid  pleasure  in  the  contemplation  of  suck 
petty  and  unnecessary  cruelty, — it  seemed  good  to  me  to 
wreak  spite  upon  the  dead, — and  as  I have  already  told 
you,  the  brain  of  a confirmed  absintheur  accepts  the  most 
fiendish  ideas  as  both  beautiful  and  just.  If  you  doubt 
what  I say,  make  inquiries  at  any  of  the  large  lunatic 
asylums  in  France, — ask  to  be  told  some  of  the  aberrations 
of  absinthe-maniacs,  who  form  the  largest  percentage  of 
brains  gone  incurably  wrong, — and  you  will  hear  enough 
to  form  material  for  a hundred  worse  histories  than  mine  ! 
What  can  you  expect  from  a man,  who  has  poisoned  his 
blood  and  killed  his  conscience  ? You  may  talk  of  the 
Soul  as  you  will — but  the  Soul  can  only  make  itself  mani- 
fest in  this  life  through  the  Senses, — and  if  the  Senses  are 
diseased  and  perverted,  how  can  the  messages  of  the 
spirit  be  otherwise  than  diseased  and  perverted  also  ? 

And  so,  yielding  to  the  devilish  humors  working  within, 
me,  I held  my  peace  and  gave  no  sign  as  to  the  iden- 
tity of  Pauline  ; — but  I went  to  the  Morgue  so  frequently, 
nearly  every  hour  in  fact,  and  stared  so  long  and  persist- 
ently at  her  dead  body  that  my  conduct  at  last  attracted 
some  attention  from  the  authorities  in  charge.  One  even- 


WOAMlVOOD.  321- 

ing.  the  third,  I think,  after  she  had  been  laid  there,  an 
offical  tapped  me  on  the  arm. 

“ Pardon  ! Monsieur  seems  to  know  the  corpse  ? ” 

I looked  at  him  angrily,  and  though  there  were  a few 
people  standing  about  us,  I gave  him  the  lie  direct. 

“ You  mistake.  I know  nothing  ! ” 

He  eyed  me  with  suspicion  and  disfavor. 

“ You  seem  to  take  a strange  interest  in  the  sight  of 
the  poor  creature,  all  the  same  ! ” 

“ Well,  what  of  that  ? ” I retorted.  “ The  girl,  though 
dead,  is  beautiful  ! I a man  artist  ! — I have  the  soul  of 
a poet  ! ” and  I laughed  ironically.  “ I love  beauty — 
and  I study  it  wherever  I find  it,  dead  or  living, — is  that 
so  strange  ? ” 

“ BuTcertainly  no,  not  at  all  ! ” said  the  official,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders  and  still  looking  at  me  askance.  “ Only 
there  is  just  this  one  little  thing  that  I would  say.  If  we 
could  obtain  any  idea,  however  slight, — any  small  clue 
which  we  might  follow  up  as  to  the  proper  identification 
of  this  so  unfortunate  demoiselle , we  should  be  glad.  She 
was  a lady  of  gentle  birth  and  breeding — we  have  no 
doubt  of  that, — but  the  linen  she  wore  was  unmarked, — 
we  can  hnd  no  name  anywhere  except  one  contained  in  a 
locket  she  wore ” 

My  nerves  shook,  and  I controlled  myself  with  difficulty. 

“ What  sort  of  locket  ? ” I asked. 

“ Oh  a mere  trifle, — of  no  value  whatever.  We  opened 
it,  of  course, — it  had  nothing  inside  but  a withered  rose 
leaf  and  a small  slip  of  paper,  on  which  was  written  one 
word,  4 Silvio nl  That  may  be  the  name  of  a place  or  a 
person — we  do  not  know.  It  does  not  help  us.” 

No  ! — it  did  not  help  them — but  it  helped  me  I — helped 
me  to  keep  my  puny  rage  more  firmly  fixed  upon  that  help- 
less smiling,  waxen-looking  thing  that  lay  before  me  in 
such  solemn  and  chilly  fairness.  A withered  rose-leaf, 
and  the  name  of  that  accursed  priest — these  were  her  sole 
treasures,  were  they  ? — all  she  cared  to  save  from  the 
wreckage  of  her  brief  summer  rime  ! Well,  well,  women 
are  strange  fools  at  best  and  the  wisest  man  that  ever 
lived  cannot  unravel  the  mystery  of  their  complex  mech- 
anism. Half  puppets,  half  angels  1 — and  one  never  knows 
to  which  side  of  their  natures  to  appeal  ! 

“ We  have  given  a very  nrecise  and  particular  de* 
21 


S12 


WORMWOOD. 


scription  of  the  corpse  in  our  annonces”~ went  on  the 
official  meditatively — “ but  at  present  it  has  led  to  nothing. 
We  should  be  really  glad  of  identification, — though  it  is 
only  a question  of  sentiment ” 

“ A question  of  sentiment ! What  do  you  mean  ? ” I 
asked  roughly. 

He  gave  a deprecatory  gesture.  “ Monsieur,  we  French* 
men  have  hearts  ! La  pauvre  petite  there  is  too  delicate 
and  pretty  to  lie  in  the  common  fosse  / ” 

Good  God  ! What  an  absurd  influence  the  loveliness 
of  a woman  can  exert  on  the  weak  minds  of  men  ! Here 
was  a girl  dead  and  incapable  of  knowing  whether  she 
was  lying  in  the  common/^  or  any  other  place  of  inter- 
ment, and  yet  this  stern  officer  of  the  Morgue,  touched  by 
her  looks,  regretted  the  necessity  of  burying  her  thus 
harshly  and  without  reverence. 

I laughed  carelessly. 

“ You  are  very  gallant,  Monsieur  ! I wish  I could  assist 
you ! This  girl-suicide  is  beautiful  as  you  say, — I have 
contemplated  her  face  and  figure  with  much  pleas- 


“ Will  you  look  at  her  more  closely,  Monsieur  ? ” he 
asked,  suddenly  turning  a keen  glance  upon  me. 

I perceived  his  drift.  He  suspected  me  of  knowing 
something,  and  wanted  to  startle  me  into  confessing  it ! 
Cunning  rogue  ! — But  I was  a match  for  him  ! 

“ I shall  be  charmed  to  do  so ! ” I responded  with 
easy  indifference.  “ It  will  be  a privilege  ! — a lesson  in 
art ! ” 

He  said  nothing,  but  simply  led  the  way  within.  One 
minute  more,,  and  the  electric  light  flashed  in  a dazzling 
white  effulgence  over  the  drowned  girl, — I felt  the  official’s 
eye  upon  me,  and  I kept  firm.  But  in  very  truth  I was 
sick — sick  at  heart ! — and  a chill  crept  through  all  my 
blood, — for  I was  near  enough  to  touch  the  woman  I had 
so  loved  ! — I could  have  kissed  her ! — her  little  white  stiff 
hand  lay  within  a few  inches  of  mine  ! I breathed  with 
difficulty, — do  what  I would,  I could  not  prevent  a slight 
shiver  visibly  shaking  my  limbs.  And  she  ! — she  was  like 
a little  marble  goddess  asleep — poor  little  Pauline  1 

Then — all  suddenly — the  official  bent  over  her  corpse 
and  raised  it  up  forcibly  by  the  head  and  shoulders,  . . < 
jl  thought  I should  have  shrieked  aloud  1 


WORMWOOD. 


323 

“ Do  not  touch  her  ! ” I exclaimed  in  a hoarse  whisper. 
“ It  is  a — sacrilege  ! ” 

He  looked  at  me  steadily,  quite  unmoved  by  my 
words. 

“ You  are  sure  you  cannot  identify  the  body? — you 
have  no  idea  who  she  was  when  living  ? ” he  demanded, 
in  measured  accents.  I shrank  backward.  As  he  held 
the  dead  girl  in  that  upright  attitude  I was  afraid  she 
might  open  her  eyes  ! 

“ I tell  you,  no ! ” I answered  with  a sort  of  sullen 
ferocity.  “No,  no,  no!  Lay  her  down!  Why  the  devil 
can  you  not  let  her  be  ? ” 

He  gave  me  another  searching,  distrustful  look.  Then 
he  slowly  and  with  a certain  tenderness  laid  the  body 
back  in  its  former  recumbent  position,  and  beckoned  me 
to  follow  him  out  of  the  mortuary.  I did  so.  “ Voyons , 
Monsieur  ” — he  said  confidentially — “ this  is  not  a case  of 
murder, — there  is  no  ground  for  any  suspicion  of  that  kind. 
It  is  simply  a suicide, — we  have  many  such, — and  surely 
from  your  manner  and  words,  you  could,  if  you  choose, 
give  us  ,some  information.  Why  not  speak  frankly  ? Par 
exemple , will  you  swear  that  you  know  absolutely  nothing 
of  the  woman’s  identity?” 

Persistent  fool  ! I returned  his  glance  defiantly, — we 
were  in  the  outer  chamber  now,  and  the  glass  screen  was 
once  more  between  us  and  the  corpse,  so  I felt  more  at 
ease.  6 

“Why,  oaths  are  not  of  such  value  nowadays  in 
France!”  I answered  carelessly.  “Our  teachers  have 
left  us  no  God,  so  what  am  I to  swear  by  ? By  your  head 
or  my  own  ? ” 

He  was  patient,  this  man  of  the  Morgue,  and  though  I 
spoke  loudly,  and  there  were  people  standing  about,  he 
took  no  offence  at  my  levity. 

“ Swear  by  your  honor,  Monsieur  ! — that  is  enough.” 

My  honor  ! Ha  ! — that  was  excellent ! — I,  who  had  no 
more  sense  of  honor  than  a carrion  crow ! 

“ By  my  honor,  then  ! ” I said,  laughing — “ I swear  I 
know  nothing  of  your  pretty  dead  Magdalen  in  there  ! A 
fillede  joie,  no  doubt ! Strange  that  so  many  men  have  pity 
for  such ; even  the  amiable  Christ  had  a good  word  to 
say  on  behalf  of  these  naughty  ones  ! What  was  it  ? — Yes 
—I  remember ; — 4 Her  sins , which  are  many\  are  forgivm 


32  4 


WO. ..//WOOD. 


K 


her,  for  she  loved  much  ! 9 True — love  excuses  many  fol- 
lies. And  she, — the  little  drowned  one, — is  charming — I 
admire  her  with  all  my  heart ! — but  I cannot  tell  you  who 
she  is  or, — to  speak  more  correctly — who  she  was  ! ” 

As  I uttered  the  deliberate  lie,  a sort  of  electric  shock 
ran  through  me — my  heart  leaped  violently  and  the  blood 
rushed  to  my  brows, — a pair  of  steadfast,  sorrowful  lus- 
trous eyes  flashed  wondering  reproach  at  me  over  the 
heads  of  the  little  throng  of  spectators, — they  were  the  eyes 
of  Heloise  St.  Cyr  ! 

Yes  ! — it  was  she  !■ — she  had  kept  her  word  ! — she  had 
come  to  rescue  Pauline, — to  defraud  me  of  my  vengeance 
on  the  dead  ! Stately,  angelic,  pitiful,  and  pure,  she  stood 
in  that  cold  and  narrow  chamber,  her  face  pale  as  the 
face  of  her  drowned  cousin, — her  hands  tremblingly  out- 
stretched ! As  in  a dream  I saw  the  press  of  people 
make  way  for  her, — I saw  men  take  off  their  hats  and  re- 
main'uncovered  as  though  a prayer  were  being  spoken, — 
I saw  the  official  in  charge  approach  her  and  murmur 
some  respectful  inquiry, — and  then — then  I heard  her 
voice,  sweet  though  shaken  with  tears, — a voice  that  sent 
its  penetrating  music  straight  to  the  very  core  of  my 
wretched  and  worthless  being ! 

“ I come  to  claim  her ! ” she  said  simply,  addressing 
herself  to  the  official.  “ She  is  my  cousin,  Pauline  de 
Charmilles, — only  daughter  of  the  late  Count  de  Charmilles. 
We  have  lost  her — long!” — and  a half  sob  escaped  her 
lips — “Give  her  tome  now, — and  I will  take  her — oh, 
poor  Pauline  ! — I will  take  her  . . . home/” 

Her  strength  gave  way — she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands — 
and  some  women  near  her  began  crying  for  sympathy.  It 
was  what  cynical  people  would  call  a “ scene  ” — and  yet— 
somehow,  I could  not  mock  at  it  as  I would  fain  have  done* 
The  spirit  of  Humanity  was  here — even  here  among  the 
morbid  frequenters  of  the  Morgue, — the  “ touch  of  nature 
which  makes  the  wrhole  world  kin  ” was  not  lacking  any- 
where— save  in  me  ! — and  more  than  all,  Heloise  was 
here, — and  in  her  presence  one  could  not  jest.  One 
believed  in  God  ; — one  always  believes  in  God, — by  the 
side  of  a good  woman  ! 

I raised  my  eyes, — I was  resolved  to  look  at  her  straight, 
— and  I did  so — but  only  for  one  second  ! For  her  glance 
swept  over  me  with  such  unutterable  horror,  loathing,  and 


WORMWOOD. 


3*5 

agony,  that  I cowered  like  a slave  under  the  lash ! I 
crept  out  of  her  sight ! — I slunk  away,  followed  by  the 
phantom  beast  of  my  own  hideous  degradation, — away — 
away — out  into  the  chill  darkness  of  the  winter  night, 
defeated  ! Defeated  ! — defrauded  of  the  last  drop  in  my 
delirious  draught  of  hatred  ! — Alone  under  the  cold  and 
starless  sky,  I heaped  wild  curses  on  myself,  on  God, — 
on  the  world  ! — on  life  and  time  and  space  ! — while  she 
— the  angel  Heloise,  whose  love  I had  once  possessed 
unknowingly,  bore  home  her  sacred  dead, — home  to  a 
maiden  funeral-couch  of  flowers,  sanctified  by  tears  and 
hallowed  by  prayers, — home, — to  receive  the  last  solemn 
honors  due  to  Innocence  and — Frailty  ! 


WO  AM  WOOD. 


326 


i 


XXXIV. 

What  was  there  to  do  now  ? Nothing, — but  to  drink 
Absinthe  ! With  the  death  of  Pauline  every  other  definite 
object  in  living  had  ended.  I cared  for  nobody  ; — while 
as  far  as  my  former  place  in  society  was  concerned  I had 
apparently  left  no  blank.  You  cannot  imagine  what  little 
account  the  world  takes  of  a man  when  he  ceases  to  set 
any  value  on  himself.  He  might  as  well  never  have  been 
born, — or  he  might  be  dead, — he  is  as  equally  forgotten, 
and  as  utterly  dismissed. 

I attended  Pauline’s  funeral  of  course.  I found  out 
when  it  was  to  take  place, — and  I watched  it  from  a dis- 
tance. It  was  a pretty  scene, — a sort  of  white,  fairy 
burial.  For  we  had  a fall  of  snow  in  Paris  that  day, — 
and  the  small  coffin  was  covered  with  a white  pall,  and  all 
the  flowers  upon  it  were  white  ; — and  when  the  big  vault 
was  unbarred  to  admit  this  dainty  burden  of  death  hidden 
in  blossoms,  its  damp  and  gloomy  walls  were  ail  covered 
with  wreaths  and  garlands,  as  though  it  were  a bridal 
chamber.  This  was  the  work  of  Heloise,  no  doubt  ! — 
sweet  saint  Heloise ! She  looked  pale  as  a ghost  and 
thin  as  a shadow  that  afternoon  ; — she  walked  by  the  side 
of  the  widowed  Comtesse  de  Charmilles,  who  appeared 
very  feeble  of  tread,  and  was  draped  in  black  from  head 
to  foot.  I gazed  at  the  solemn  cortege  from  an  obscure 
corner  in  the  cemetery, — and  smiled  as  I thought  that  I 
— I only  had  wrought  all  the  misery  on  this  once  proud 
and  now  broken-down,  bereaved  family  ! — I,  and — Ab- 
sinthe ! If  I had  remained  the  same  Gaston  Beauvais  that 
I once  had  been, — if  on  the  night  Pauline  had  made  her 
wild  confession  of  shame  to  me,  I had  listened  to  the 
voice  of  mercy  in  my  heart, — if  I had  never  met  Andre 
Gessonex  . . . imagine  ! — so  much  hangs  on  an  “ if  ” ! 
Now  and  then  a kind  of  remorse  stung  me, — but  it  was  a 
mere  passing  emotion, — and  it  only  troubled  me  when  X 


WORMWOOD . 


327 

thought  of  or  saw  Heloi'se.  She  was,  as  she  now  is,  the 
one  reproach  of  my  life, — the  only  glimpse  of  God  I have 
ever  known  ! When  Pauline  was  laid  to  rest, — when  the 
iron  grating  of  the  cold  tomb  shut  grimly  down  on  all 
that  was  mortal  of  the  bright  foolish  child  I had  first  met 
fresh  from  her  school  at  Lausanne, — this  same  sweet,  pale 
Helo'ise  lost  all  her  self-control  for  a moment,  and  with  a 
long  sobbing  cry  fell  forward  in  a swoon  among  the  little 
frightened  attendant  acolytes  and  their  flaring  candles, — 
but  she  recovered  speedily.  And  when  she  could  once 
more  stand  upright,  she  tottered  to  the  door  of  the  mau- 
soleum, and  kissed  it,— and  hung  a wreath  of  white  roses 
upon  it,  on  which  the  wrord  “ Amour ! ” was  written  in 
silver  letters.  Then  she  went  away  weeping,  with  all  the 
rest  of  the  funeral  train — but  I — I remained  behind ! 
Hidden  among  the  trees  I lay  quiet,  in  undiscovered 
safety,  so  that  when  the  night  came  I was  still  there. 
The  guardians  of  Pere-la  Chaise,  patrolled  the  place  as 
usual  and  locked  the  gates — but  I was  left  a prisoner 
within,  which  was  precisely  what  I desired.  Once  alone 
— all  all  alone  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  I flung  up  my 
arms  in  delirious  ecstasy — this  City  of  the  Dead  was 
mine  for  the  time  ! — mine,  all,  these  mouldering  corpses 
in  the  play  ! I was  sole  ruler  of  this  wide  domain  of 
graves  ! I rushed  to  the  shut-up  marble  prison  of  Pau- 
line— I threw  myself  on  the  ground  before  it,— I wept  and 
raved  and  swore,  and  called  her  by  every  endearing  name 
I could  think  of ! — the  awful  silence  maddened  me  ! I 
beat  at  the  iron  grating  with  my  fists  till  they  bled ; — 
“ Pauline  ! ” I cried — “ Pauline  ! ” No  answer ! — oh  God  ! 
— -she  wrould  never  answer  any  call  again  ! Grovelling  in 
the  dust  I looked  up  despairingly — the  word  “ Amour  ! ” 
with  its  silvery  glisten  on  Heloise’s  rose-garland,  flashed  on 
my  eyes  like  a flame.  “ Amour  ” — Love  ! God  or  the 
Devil ! It  is  one  or  the  other ; it  is  the  thing  that  rules 
the  universe,— it  is  the  only  Deity  we  can  never  abjure  ! 
Love  ! — oh  madness  ! Tell  me,  women  and  men,  tell  me 
whether  love  rules  your  lives  most  for  good,  or  most  for 
evil  ? Can  we  not  'get  at  the  truth  of  this  ? If  we  can, 
then  we  shall  know  the  secret  of  life’s  riddle.  For  if  Love 
lead  us  most  to  evil,  then  the  hidden  Force  of  Creation 
is  a Fiend, — if  it  lead  us  most  to  good,  then — then  we 
have  a God  to  deal  with  ! And  I fear  me  much  it  is  a God 


WORMWOOD. 


328 

after  all  ! — I shudder  to  think  it, — but  I am  afraid- 
afraid  ! For  if  God  exists,  then  they — all  the  dead 
creatures  I know,  whose  spirits  haunt  me, — they  are  happy, 
wise,  victorious  and  immortal, — while  I — I am  lower  than 
the  veriest  insect  that  breeds  in  the  mould  and  is  blind  to 
the  sun ! 

I must  not  dwell  on  this  ; — I must  not  look  back  to 
those  hours  passed  outside  Pauline’s  tomb.  For  they  were 
horrible  ! Once,  as  the  night  waned,  I saw  Silvion  Gui- 
del, — he  leaned  against  the  pillars  of  the  vault  and  barred 
my  way  with  one  uplifted  hand.  I could  not  fight  him — a 
creature  of  the  mist  and  air ! — but  his  face  was  as  the  face 
of  an  angel,  and  its  serene  triumph  filled  me  with  impo- 
tent fury  ! He  had  won  the  day,  I felt — Pauline  was  his 
— not  mine ! God  had  been  on  his  side,  and  Death,  in- 
stead of  conquering  him,  had  given  him  the  victory ! 

One  day,  weeks  after  Pauline’s  burial,  I was  very  ill. 

I could  not  move  at  all — the  power  of  my  limbs  was  gone. 
Such  a strange  weakness  and  sick  fever  beset  me  that  I did 
nothing  but  weep  for  sheer  helplessness.  It  was  a sort  of 
temporary  paralysis — it  passed  away  after  a while,  but  it 
left  me  terrified  and  unstrung.  When  I got  better,  a droll 
idea  entered  my  brain.  I.  would  go  to  confession  ! I, 
•who  hated  priests,  would  see  what  they  could  tell  me  for 
once, — I would  find  out  whether  Religion,  or  what  was 
called  religion,  had  any  mystical  saving  grace  for  an 
absintheur ! I was  abjectly  miserable  at  the  time, — a fit 
of  the  most  intolerable  depression  had  laid  hold  upon  me. 
Moreover,  I had  been  foolishly  hurt  by  chancing  to  see 
my  father  walking  along  with  his  new  partner, — the  man 
he  had  adopted  in  my  place, — a fine,  handsome,  pleasant, 
dashing-looking  fellow, — and  he, — my  father, — had  seemed 
perfectly  happy  ! — Yes,  perfectly  happy  ! He  had  not 
seen  me, — probably  he  would  not  have  known  me  if  he 
had, — he  leaned  upon  the  arm  of  his  new  “ son  ” — and 
laughed  with  him  at  some  jest  or  other  ; — he  had  forgotten 
me  ! — or  if  he  had  not  actually  forgotten,  he  was  de-— 
termined  to  appear  as  though  he  had.  I thought  him 
cruel, — callous  ; — I blamed  faith,  and  everything  and 
everybody  except  myself  who  had  wrought  my  own  un- 
doing. That  is  the  way  with  many  of  us, — we  get  wilfully 
and  deliberately  into  mischief, — then  we  look  about  to  see 
on  which  one  of  our  fellow-crea  lures  we  can  lay  the  fault ! 


WORMWOOD . 


329 

tc  Open  confession  is  good  for  the  soul ! ” says  some 
moralist  or  other.  I determined  to  try  it — for  a change  ! 
And  my  confessor  should  be  good  old  Pere  Vaudron  ! — I 
wondered  I had  never  thought  of  him  before.  He  might 
have  been  some  comfort  to  me. — for  he  was  an  honest 
Christian,  and  therefore  he  would  not  be  likely  to  turn 
away  from  any  penitent,  however  fallen  and  degraded. 

But  was  I penitent  ? Of  course  not ! I was  miserable 
I tell  you ; — and  I wanted  the  relief  of  unburdening  my- 
self to  some  one  who  would  not  repeat  what  I said.  I 
was  not  sorry  for  anything — I was  only  tired,  and  made 
nervous  by  the  spectral  beast  that  followed  me,  as  well  as 
by  other  curious  and  frightful  hallucinations.  Fiery 
wheels  in  the  air, — great  glittering  birds  of  prey  swooping 
down  with  talons  outstretched  to  clutch  at  me, — whirl- 
pools of  green  in  the  ground  into  which  it  seemed  I must 
fall  headlong  as  I walked — these  were  common  delusions  ; 
— but  I began  to  dread  madness  as  I had  never  dreaded 
it  before, — and  the  more  I considered  the  matter,  the 
more  determined  I became  to  speak  to  Pere  Vaudron, 
who  had  known  me  from  boyhood  ; — it  might  do  me  good, 
— there  were  miracles  in  the  Church, — who  could  tell ! 

And  so  one  evening  I made  my  way  up  to  the  little 
well-remembered  chapel,— the  place  where,  if  all  had 
gone  smoothly,  I should  have  been  married  to  Pauline, 
— the  altar  where  “ le  beau  Silvion  ” had  “ assisted  ” his 
too-confiding  uncle  at  early  mass.  Everything  was  very 
quiet, — there  were  flowers  about, — and  the  sacred  lamps 
of  vigil  were  burning  clearly.  A woman  was  sweeping 
out  the  chancel, — -I  recognized  her  at  once, — it  was  old 
Margot.  She  did  not  know  me ; she  looked  up  as  I en- 
tered, but  finding  (no  doubt)  my  appearance  the  reverse 
of  prepossessing,  she  resumed  her  task  with  increased 
vigor.  Save  for  her  and  myself,  the  church  was  empty. 
After  waiting  a little  I went  up  and  spoke  to  her. 

“ Does  M.  the  cur6  hear  confessions  this  evening  ? ” 

She  stared  at  me  and  crossed  herself,— then  pointed  to 
the  sacristy  bell. 

“ Sonnez,  s'il  vous  plait ! ” 

She  was  always  curt  and  cross,  this  old  Margot ! — I 
tried  her  again. 

“ It  is  not  the  usual  hour,  perhaps  ? ” 

She  made  no  reply  ; — so,  smiling  a little  at  her  acerbity 


33° 


WORMWOOD. 


I did  as  she  bade  me  and  rang  the  bell  she  indicated, 
A small  boy  appeared, — an  acolyte. 

“ Does  the  reverend  father  attend  the  confessional  this 
evening  ? ” 

“Yes.  He  will  be  in  the  church  almost  immedi- 
ately.” 

I retired  and  sat  down  to  wait.  I was  beginning  to* 
feel  very  much  amused.  This  was  the  finest  jest  I had 
ever  played  with  myself, — I was  actually  pretending  to 
have  a conscience ! Meanwhile  old  Margot  took  her 
departure  with  her  broom  and  all  her  cleansing  para- 
phernalia— and  left  me  alone  in  the  church.  She  banged 
the  big  door  behind  her  noisily. — and  the  deep  silence 
that  followed  its  hollow  reverberation  oppressed  me  un- 
comfortably. There  was  a large  crucifix  near  me,  and 
the  figure  of  Christ  upon  it  looked  tortured  and  grue- 
some ; what  a foolish  fond  enthusiast  He  was,  I thought,, 
to  perish  for  such  a delusive  idea  as  the  higher  spirit- 
ualization of  Man  ! We  shall  never  become  spiritual ; — 
we  are  of  the  earth  earthy — our  desires  are  base,-^-our 
passions  contemptible ; but  as  we  have  been  created,  so 
we  shall  remain,  selon  rnoi ; — others  may  hold  a different 
opinion  if  they  choose. 

A slow  step  sounded  on  the  marble  floor,  and  I hast- 
ily bent  my  head  as  penitents  do,  looking  between  my 
clasped  fingers  at  good  old  Vaudron  as  he  came  through 
the  sacristy  and  paced  gently  towards  the  confessional. 
Heavens  ! "how  changed  he  was  ! — how  he  stooped  ! — 
and  his  hair  was  snow-white, — his  face  too,  once  so  florid 
and  merry,  was  wrinkled,  careworn,  and  pale.  He  had 
suffered,  even  he,  this  poor  old  man, — and  his  suffering 
was  also  my  work ! God ! what  a fiendish  power  one 
human  being  has  to  ruin  many  others ! I waited  till  he  y 
was  seated  in  the  usual  niche — then  I made  my  way  to 
the  penitent’s  corner.  As  I knelt  I heard  him  mutter  the 
usual  Latin  formula, — he  deemed  me  also  at  my  prayers, 
but  I said  nothing.  I kept  silence  so  long,  that  at  last 
he  sighed  impatiently,  and  putting  his  lips  close  to  the 
curtained  grating  said  mildly — 

“ I am  waiting,  my  son  ! Take  courage  ! ” 

My  sense’ of  amusement  increased.  I could  have 
laughed  aloud,  it  was  such  a comedy. 

“ Mon  pere  ,”  I murmured,  controlling  myself  with  an 


WORMWOOD. 


33^ 


effort.  “ my  confession  will  be  strange  and  terrible* — are 
you  prepared  for  something  quite  unusual  ? ” 

I felt  that  he  was  startled, — but  in  his  quiet  accent*- 
there  was  only  just  the  faintest  touch  of  sternness  as 
replied — 

“ I am  prepared.  Commend  yourself  to  God — to  Hin* 
you  speak  as  well  as  to  me, — therefore  be  truthful  an# 
conceal  nothing,  as  only  by  true  confession  can  you  hop# 
for  mercy ! ” 

“ The  jargon  of  the  Church  as  usual ! ” I said  co nr 
temptuously.  “ Spare  me  unnecessary  platitudes,  good 
father  ! My  sins  are  not  those  of  every  day, — and  every- 
day comfort  will  not  do  for  me.  And  so  to  begin  at  once,,. 
— I have  murdered  a man  ! This  and  no  less  is  my  crime  S 
— can  you  give  me  absolution  ? ” 

I heard  a sudden  agitated  movement  inside  the  confes- 
sional. Through  the  small  holes  of  the  grating  I could 
see  him  clasp  his  hands  as  though  in  terror  or  prayer*. 
Then  he  spoke. 

“Absolution?  Wretched  soul,  there  is  none — none  t 
Unless  you  at  once  confess  yourself  to  the  authorities  and 
give  yourself  up  to  justice,  there  is  no  forgiveness  either 
in  earth  or  heaven  for  such  an  evil  deed.  Who  was  the- 
man  ? ” 

“ My  enemy  ! ” 

“You  should  have  pardoned  him  ! ” 

“ Good  father,  you  are  not  consistent ! According;, 
to  your  own  account,  God  Himself  does  not  pardon  till 
justice  is  done.  I — like  Deity — wanted  justice  ! I killed 
a deceiver,  a liar,  a seducer, — airiest  who  robbed  me  of 
the  woman  I loved  ! ” 

A shuddering  sigh— half  a groan  escaped  him. 

“ A priest ! — oh  God  ! ” 

“ Yes,  a priest,”  I went  on  recklessly.  “ What  then  ? 
Priests  are  worse  than  laymen.  Their  vocation  deprives, 
them  of  love, — they  crave  for  it  because  it  is  forbidden 
and  will  have  it  at  all  risks.  And  he,  the  man  I killed — 
had  it, — he  won  it  by  a mere  look,  a mere  smile  ; he  had 
fine  eyes  and  a graceful  trick  of  manner.  He  was  happy- 
for  a time  at  any  rate.  He  was  as  beautiful  as  an  angel 
— as  gifted  as  a Marcus  Aurelius  ! — Did  you  never  know 
any  one  like  him  ? He  had  the  best  of  all  the  world  could, 
give  him  in  the  love  of  a woman  as  fair  as  the  mornings 


332 


WURMWUVV. 


She  is  dead  too  now.  She  drowned  herself  as  soon  as 
;she  knew  he  was  gone — and  that  I had  killed  him  ! So 
he  keeps  her  love  to  the  end  you  see, — and  I am  baffled 
of  it  all.  That  is  why  I have  come  to  you — just  because 
I am  baffled, — I want  you  to  comfort  me — I want  a victory 
somewhere  ! I want  you  to  tell  me  that  the  man  I mur- 
dered is  damned  to  all  eternity,  because  he  had  no  time  to 
repent  of  his  sins  before  he  died  ! I want  you  to  tell  me 
that  she — the  woman, — is  damned  also,  because  she  killed 
herself  without  God’s  permission  ! Tell  me  any  lies  the 
Church  will  allow  you  to  tell ! Tell  me  that  I am  safe 
because  I endure! — because  though  loaded  with  sin  and 
vice,  I still  live  on,  waiting  for  God  to  kill  me  rather  than 
myself  ! Tell  me  all  this  and  I will  read  all  the  Peniten- 
tial Psalms  in  the  cafe  this  evening  instead  of  the  4 Petit 
Journal!  ’ ” I paused  for  lack  of  breath, — I could  see 
Yaudron  start  up  from  his  seat  in  horror  as  I uttered  my 
reckless  tirade — and  now,  when  I gave  him  time  to  speak, 
his  voice  trembled  with  righteous  indignation. 

“ Blasphemer,  be  silent ! ” he  said — “ Wretched,  un- 
happy man — how  dare  you  presume  to  enter  God’s  house 
in  such  a condition  ? You  are  mad  or  drunk — you  af- 
front the  Sacrament  of  Confession  by  ribald  language  ! — 
you  insult  the  Church  1 Pray  for  true  contrition  if  you 
can  pray — and  go  ! — I will  hear  no  more  ! ” 

“ But  you  shall  hear  ! ” I said  wildly.  “ You  must  hear  l 
I have  murdered  a man,  I tell  you! — and  the  accursed 
memory  of  his  dying  eyes,  his  dying  face,  clings  to  me  like 
a disease  in  the  air  ! You  do  not  ask  me  who  he  was — yet 
you  know  him  ! — you  loved  him ! He  was  your  nephew — 
Silvion  Guidel ! ” , 

Hardly  had  the  words  left  my  lips  when  the  confes- 
sional doors  flew  open,  and  Vaudron  rushed  upon  me, — 
he  clutched  me  by  the  arm,  his  fine  old  face  burning  with 
wrath. 

“ You  murdered  him  ! — you — you  ! ” he  gasped,  his  eyes 
glittering,  his  hand  uplifted  as  though  he  would  have 
struck  me  down  before  him.  * 

I smiled. 

“ Even  so,  good  father ! I, — simply  I ! And  here  I 
am, — at  your  mercy — only  remember  this, — what  I have 
;said  to  you  is  under  the  seal  of  co7ifessio7i  /” 

His  upraised  arm  dropped  nerveless  at  his  side — he 


WORMWOOD . 


333 


stared  fixedly  at  me,  his  breath  coming  and  going  rapidly 
as  though  he  had  been  running  a race.  Then,  still  hold- 
ing me  in  a fast  grip,  he  dragged  me  to  the  front  of  the 
altar  where  the  light  shed  by  the  swinging  lamps  could  fall 
directly  upon  my  features.  There,  like  one  in  some  fever- 
ish dream,  he  scanned  me  up  and  down,  doubtfully  at 
first,  then  with  gradually  dawning,  horrified  recognition. 

“ God  have  mercy  upon  me ! ” he  ejaculated  tremu- 
lously ; “ it  is  Gaston  Beauvais  ! ” 

“Precisely  so,  mon  cher  Vaudron!”  I replied  com- 
posedly. “ It  is  Gaston  Beauvais  ! It  is  the  Gaston 
Beauvais  who  was  duped  and  betrayed, — and  who  has. 
avenged  his  wrong  in  the  good  old  Biblical  fashion,  by 
killing  his  betrayer  ! More  than  this — it  is  the  Gaston 
Beauvais  who  drove  Pauline  de  Charmilles  to  her  self- 
sought  death,  by  telling  her  the  fate  of  her  lover, — what 
could  you  expect ! — she  was  a silly  girl  always  ! And  now 
I unburden  myself  to  you  that  you  may  know  me ; and 
that  I also  may  know  if  there  is  any  truth  in  the  religion 
you  profess.  I think  not, — for  you,  an  ordained  serv- 
ant of  the  Church,  have  already  shown  something  of  un- 
seemly violence  ! Your  grip  on  my  arm  is  not  of  the 
lightest,  I assure  you  ! — you  have  given  way  to  anger, — 
fie,  pere  Yaudron  ! Wrath  in  the  sanctuary  is  not  becom- 
ing to  your  order ! What ! — did  you  fancy  you  were  a 
man  for  once, — instead  of  a priest?  ” 

I did  not  mean  to  offer  him  this  insult, — the  bitter  jest 
escaped  my  lips  before  I was  aware  of  it.  But  it  made  no 
visible  effect  on  him, — he  merely  loosened  his  hold  of  me 
and  stood  a step  or  two  apart,  looking  at  me  with  strained 
anguished  eyes. 

“ You  can  break  your  vows,  if  you  like,”  I wrent  on  care- 
lessly. “ Vows  of  every  kind  are  brittle  ware  nowadays. 
You  can  tell  my  father  I am  a murderer, — the  murderer 
of  Silvion  Guidel — and  so  give  him  fresh  cause  to  con- 
gratulate his  foresight  in  having  disowned  me, — you  can. 
tell  Hdloise  St.  Cyr  that  I goaded  her  cousin  to  madness,. 
— you  can  betray  me  to  the  guillotine.  All  this  is  in  your 
power,  and  by  doing  it  you  will  only  prove/ like  many 
another  of  your  craft,  how  lightly  a Creed  weighs  in  the 
balance  against  personal  passion,  . . . you  will  be  wise 
in  your  generation  like  the  Pharisees  of  old ” 

“ Stop — stop  ! ” he  cried  hoarsely,  flinging  up  his 'hands 


334 


WORMWOOD. 


:and  clasping  them  above  his  head.  “ I cannot  bear  it— 
oh  God  ! I cannot  bear  it ! Wretched  man,  what  have 
./"done  to  you  that  you  should  so  torture  me  ! ” 

I was  silent.  What  had  he  done  ? Why — nothing  ! I 
■watched  him  coldly, — his  countenance  was  a strange 
study  ! He  was  fighting  a mental  battle, — a conflict  of 
"sworn  duty  against  all  the  claims  and  instincts  of  man- 
hood,— it  seemed  surprising  to  me  that  he  should  deem  it 
worth  his  while  to  engage  in  such  a struggle.  A few 
minutes  passed  thus, — no  one  entered  the  church — we 
were  alone  with  all  the  familiar  things  of  religion  about 
ns,  the  lamps  above  us  shedding  a blood-like  hue  on  the 
figure  of  the  Christ  crucified.  Presently,  as  though 
drawn  by  some  compelling  instinct  he  turned  towards 
this  Image  of  his  Faith, — a great  sigh  broke  from  his  lips, 
— and,  tottering  feebly  forward,  he  fell  upon  his  knees 
;and  hid  his  face, — I saw  tears  trickling  slowly  between 
his  wrinkled  fingers.  Foolish  old  man ! His  simplicity 
vexed  me — he  looked  like  the  picture  of  a praying 
^apostle,  with  the  faint  glow  from  the  light  above  the 
cross  falling  in  the  shape  of  a halo  round  his  silvery 
liair ! 

And  I — I stood  irresolute, — half  abashed,  wholly  em- 
barrassed,— inclined  to  laugh  or  weep,  I knew  not  which ; 
— when  all  at  once  a horrible  sensation  overwhelmed  me, 
— something  snapt  asunder  in  my  temples  like  a suddenly 
cut  wire, — the  whole  nave  of  the  church  grew  black  as 
pitch,  and  I threw  out  my  hands  to  keep  myself  from  fall- 
ing. Then  came  masses  of  pale  green  vapor  that  twisted 
and  twirled,  and  sent  shafts  of  lambent  fire,  or  lightning 
as  it  seemed,  into  the  very  centre  of  my  brain  ! — but 
through  it  all,  though  I seemed  caught  up  and  devoured 
by  flame,  I saw  Vaudron’s  devout  figure  kneeling  at  the 
crucifix ; and  I rushed  to  it  as  to  some  certain  rescue. 

“ Save  me  ! ” I cried  desperately.  “ Have  you  no 
pity?”  and  I clutched  at  his  garment.  “Do  you  not  see? 
— I am  going  mad  ! — mad  ! ” 

And  I burst  into  a peal  of  delirious  laughter  that  woke 
loud  eches  from  the  vaulted  roof  and  startled  my  own 
ears  with  a sense  of  horror.  But  with  that  laughter,  the 
paroxysm  passed, — my  brain  cleared,  and  I regained  my 
self-control  as  by  an  electric  shock  that  only  left  my  limbs 
trembling.  Pkre  Vaudron  meanwhile  had  risen  from  his 


WORMWOOD.  335 

knees  and  now  confronted  me,  his  features  pallid  with 
woe  and  wonder. 

“ Pardon  me  ! ” I said,  and  forced  a smile.  “ I am  not 
well ! I have  nervous  delusions, — I suffer  from  too  much 
dissipation — I am  a victim  to  pleasure  ! Self-indulgence 
is  an  agreeable  thing, — but  it  has  its  consequences  which 
are  not  always  agreeable.  It  is  nothing — a mere  passing 
ailment ! But  now,  good  father, — as  you  have  said  your 
prayers — (and  I hope  gained  much  benefit  thereby !) 
may  I ask  if  you  have  no  word  for  me  ? It  is  the  duty  of 
a priest,  I believe,  if  he  cannot  give  absolution,  to  at 
least  enjoin  penance  ! ” 

He  met  my  satirical  glance  with  a stern  sorrow  in  his 
own  eyes — the  tears  were  still  wet  on  his  cheeks. 

“ The  secret  of  your  crime  is  safe  with  me  ! ” was  all  he 
said. — and  turned  away. 

I hastened  after  him. 

“ Is  that  all  ? ” I asked,  half  banteringly. 

He  stopped,  and  looked  fixedly  at  me  once  more  ; — the 
agony  depicted  in  his  face  would  have  touched  me  had 
my  heart  not  been  harder  than  adamant. 

“All!”  he  exclaimed  passionately.  “Is  it  not  the 
4 all’  you  need?  You  tell  me  you  murdered  the  unhappy 
Silvion, — you , — Gaston  Beauvais,  of  all  men  in  the  world  ! 
— and  why  have  you  told  me  ? Simply  to  weigh  me  down 
to  the  grave  with  the  awful  burden  of  that  hidden  knowl- 
edge ! You  have  no  regret  or  remorse, — ybu  speak  of 
what  you  have  done  with  the  most  horrible  cynicism, — 
and  to  talk  of  penance  to  you  would  be  to  outrage  its 
very  name  ! For  God’s  sake  leave  me  ! — leave  me  to  the 
wretchedness  of  my  lonely  old  age, — leave  me,  while  I 
have  strength  to  let  you  go  unharmed — I am  but  human  ! 
— your  presence  sickens  me — I have  no  force  to  bear — 
more ” 

His  voice  failed  him, — he  made  a slight  gesture  of  dis- 
missal. * 

“And  I — do  you  not  think  /am  miserable?”  I said 
angrily.  “ What  a set  of  egotists  you  are — you  and  my 
father,  and  the  whole  baraque  ! Fine  Christians  truly ! — 
always  pitying  yourselves  ! Have  you  no  pity  for  me  ? ” 

The  old  curd  drew  himself  up,  the  dignity  and  pathos 
of  his  grief  making  his  homely  figure  for  the  moment 
majestic. 


336 


WORMWOOD. 


“ I pity  you,  God  knows  ! ” he  said  solemnly.  “ I pity 
you  more  than  the  lowest  pitiable  thing  that  breathes ! 
A man  with  the  curse  of  Cain  upon  his  soul,— a man  with- 
out a heart,  without  a conscience,  without  peace  in  this 
world  or  hope  in  the  next — as  Christ  lives,  I pity  you  ! 
But  do  not  expect  more  of  me  than  pity  ! I am  a poor 
frail  old  man, — lacking  in  all  the  virtues  of  the  saints — 
and  I cannot — Heaven  help  me  ! I cannot  (orgive  you  ! ” 
— and  his  voice  shook  as,  waving  rne  back,  with  one  handy 
he  walked  feebly  to  the  door  of  the  sacristy — “ I cannot ! 
— Christ  have  mercy  upon  me! — I cannot!  I have  na 
strength  for  that, — the  poor  child  Pauline — the  wretched 
Silvion  ! — no,  no  ! I cannot  forgive  ! — not  yet ! God 
must  teach  me  to  do  that — God  must  help  me, — of  my 
own  accord  I cannot ! ” 

On  a sudden  impulse  I flung  myself  on  my  knees  be- 
fore him. 

“ Pere  Vaudron  ! ” I cried.  “ Remember  ! — You  knew 
me  as  a child — you  loved  me  as  a boy — you  are  my  father’s 
friend  ! Think — I am  a wreck — a lost  soul ! — will  you 
let  me  go  without  a word  of  comfort  ? ” 

He  stood  inert — his  face  pale  as  death,  his  lips  quiver- 
ing. The  struggle  within  him  was  very  bitter — his  breath 
came  hard  and  fast, — he  too  had  loved  that  accursedly 
beautiful  Silvion  ! After  a pause,  he  raised  his  shaking 
hand  and  pointed  to  the  crucifix. 

“There — there!”  he  muttered  brokenly — “ Go  there — 
and — pray ! As  a man  I dare  say  nothing  to  you — as  a 
priest  I say,  God  help  you  ! ” 

Poor  old  man  ! His  Christian  heroism  was  sorely 
tried  ! He  drew  his  garment  from  my  touch, — the  sac- 
risty-door opened  and  shut, — he  was  gone. 

I sprang  fo  my  feet  and  looked  about  me.  I was  alone 
in  the  church, — alone  and  face  to  face  with  the  crucifix, — 
the  great,  gaunt,  bleeding  Figure  with  the  down-dropped 
Head  and  thorny  crown.  “ Go  there — and  pray  ! ” What 
— I? — I an  absintheur  ? Kneel  at  a crucifix? — Never? 
It  could  do  me  no  good,  I knew, — whatever  miracle  it 
might  work  on  others  ! 

Poor  old  Yaudron ! I had  made  him  miserable — 
poor,  simple,  silly,  feeble  soul!  “God  help  you!”  he 
had  said — mot  “ God,  pardon  you  !”  He  knew  the  Eter- 
nal Code  of  Justice  better  than  to  use  the  word  “ pardon.” 


V'ORMWOOD 


33* 


I should  scarcely  have  thought  he  had  so  much  firmness 
in  him — so  much  staunch  manhood.  It  was  not  in  human 
nature  to  easily  forgive  such  a criminal  as  I, — and  he,  in 
spite  of  his  vocation,  had  been  true  to  human  nature.  I 
honored  him  for  it.  Human  Nature  is  a grand  thing ! 
Sometimes  noble,  sometimes  mean, — sometimes  dignified, 
sometimes  abject, — what  an  amazing  phase  of  Creation  it 
is  ! — and  though  so  human,  how  full  (at  odd  intervals)  of 
the  Divine  ! The  crucifix  is  its  Symbol, — for  Man  at  his 
best  is  an  Ideal, — and  when  he  reaches  this  point  of  per- 
fection, the  rest  of  his  race  hang  him  up  on  a cross  like  a 
criminal  in  the  sight  of  the  centuries,  to  mock  at,  to  wor- 
ship now  and  then,  and  to  sneer  at  still  more  frequently, 
for  says  the  world — “ Look  at  this  fool ! He  professed  to 
be  able  to  live  a nobler  life  than  we,  and  see  where  we 
have  nailed  him  ! ” 

And  I passed  the  dead  Christ  with  an  indifferent  shrug 
and  smile  as  I stumbled  out  of  the  quiet  church  into  the 
chill  air  of  the  night,  and  thought  how  little  the  Christian 
creed  had  done  for  me.  It  had  (perhaps)  persuaded 
Vaudron  to  “pity.”  me,  and  to  say,  “ God  help”  me, — but 
what  cared  I for  pity  or  a vaguely  divine  assistance  ? I 
had  better  material  wherewith  to  deal ! — and,  humming  the 
fragment  of  a tune,  I sauntered  drowsily  down  to  the 
Boulevards,  and  there,  as  a suitable  wind-up  to  my 
“ religious  ” evening,  got  dead  drunk, — on  Absinthe  1 


33* 


WORMWOOD. 


XXXV. 


The  time  that  immediately  followed  that  night  is  a blur 
to  me  ; — I have  no  recollection  at  all  of  anything  that 
happened.  For  I was  very  ill.  During  the  space  of  a 
whole  month  I lay  in  my  bed,  a prey  to  violent  fever  and 
delirium.  So  I was  told  afterwards; — I knew  nothing. 
The  people  at  my  lodgings  got  alarmed  and  sent  for  a 
doctor, — he  was  a good  fellow  in  his  way,  and  took  an 
amiably  scientific  interest  in  me.  When  I recovered  my 
senses  he  told  me  what  I knew  very  well  before, — namely, 
that  all  my  sufferings  were  due  to  excessive  indulgence  in 
Absinthe. 

“You  must  give  it  up,”  he  said  decisively,  “ at  once, 
— and  forever.  It  is  a detestable  habit, — a horrible  craze 
of  the  Parisians,  who  are  positively  deteriorating  in  blood 
and  brain  by  reason  of  their  passion  for  this  poison.  What 
the  next  generation  will  be,  I dread  to  think  1 I know 
it  is  a difficult  business  to  break  off  anything  to  which 
the  system  has  grown  accustomed, — but  you  are  still 
a young  man  and  you  cannot  be  too  strongly  warned 
against  the  danger  of  continuing  in  your  present  course 
of  life.  Moral  force  is  necessary, — and  you  must  exert 
it.  I have  a large  medical  practice,  and  cases  like  yours 
are  alarmingly  common,  and  as  much  on  the  increase  as 
morphinomania  amongst  women, — but  I tell  you  frankly 
no  medicine  can  do  good,  where  the  patient  refuses  to 
employ  his  own  power  of  resistance.  I must  ask  you 
therefore,  for  your  own  sake,  to  bring  all  your  will  to  bear 
on  the  effort  to  overcome  this  fatal  habit  of  yours,  as  a 
matter  of  duty  and  conscience.” 

Duty  and  conscience ! I smiled, — and,  turning  on  my 
pillows,  stared  at  him  curiously.  He  was  a quiet,  self- 
possessed  man  of  middle  age,  rather  good-looking,  with 
a calm  voice  and  a reserved  manner. 

“ Duty  and  conscience  1 ” I murmured  languidly.  - “-How 


WORMWOOD. 


339 


well  they  sound— those  good  little  words  ! And  so,  doc- 
tor, you  consider  me  in  a bad  condition  ? ” 

He  surveyed  me  with  a cold,  professional  air. 

“ I certainly  do,”  he  answered.  “If  it  were  not  for 
the  fact  that  you  have  the  recuperative  forces  of  youth  in 
you,  I should  be  inclined  to  pronounce  you  as  incurable. 
Were  I to  analyze  your  state — — ” 

“ Do  so,  I beg  of  you  ! ” I interrupted  him  eagerly. 
u Analyze  me  by  all  means  ! — I am  fond  of  science  ! ” He 
looked  at  me  dubiously  and  felt  my  pulse,  watch  in  hand. 

“ Science  is  in  its  infancy,”  he  said  meditatively,  “ es- 
pecially medical  science.  But  some  few  facts  it  has  en- 
tirely mastered.  And  so,  speaking  without  any  reserve, 
I must  inform,  you  that  if  you  persist  in  drinking  absinthe 
you  will  become  a hopeless  maniac.  Your  illness  has 
been  a sort  of  God-send, — it  has  forced  you  to  live  a 
month  under  my  care  without  tasting  a drop  of  that  in- 
fernal liquid.  And  a certain  benefit  has  been  the  result, 
so  that  in  a way  you  are  prepared  to  be  cured.  But  your 
brain-cells  are  still  heavily  charged  with  the  poison  and 
a violent  irritation  has  been  set  up  in  the  nerve-tissues. 
Your  blood  is  contaminated — and  its  flow  from  the  heart 
to  the  brain  is  irregular, — sometimes  violently  interrupted  ; 
— a state  of  things  which  naturally  produces  giddiness, 
swooning,  and  fits  of  delirium  which  resemble  strong 
epilepsy.  Such  a condition  might  make  you  subject  to 
hallucinations  of  an  unpleasant  kind ” 

“Just  so!”  I interposed  lazily.  “And  with  all  your 
skill,  doctor,  you  have  not  got  rid  of  that  brute  down 
there ! ” 

He  started, — and  gazed  inquiringly  in  the  direction  to 
which  I pqinted,  where  plain  and  tangible  to  my  eyes,  the 
tawny  spectral  leopard  lay  on  my  bed,  not  below  it,  its  great 
yellow  forepaws  resting  close  to  my  feet. 

“ What  brute  ? ” he  demanded,  bringing  his  calm  glance 
to  bear  upon  me  once  more,  and  again  pressing  his  cool, 
firm  fingers  on  my  throbbing  pulse. 

I explained  in  a few  words  the  hateful  delusion  that 
had  troubled  me  so  long.  His  brows  knitted,  and  he 
seemed  perplexed. 

“No  cure  for  me?”  I asked  indifferently,  noting  the 
expression  of  his  face. 

“ I do  not  know — I cannot  tell,”  he  answered  hup 


340 


WORMWOOD. 


riedly.  “ Such  persistently  marked  spectra  is  generally  the 
symptom  of  existing  disease, — I had  hoped  otherwise — 
but ” 

“You  had  hoped  it  was  merely  temporary,”  I said* 
“ Ah,  I understand ! But  if  disease  has  actually  begun*, 
what  is  the  remedy  ? ” 

He  hesitated. 

“ Come — speak  ! ” And  I raised  myself  on  my  pil- 
lows impatiently.  “You  need  not  be  afraid  to  give  arv 
opinion  1 ” 

“ There  is  no  remedy,”  he  replied  reluctantly.  “ Dis- 
ease of  the  brain  is  incurable, — it  can  only  be  retarded* 
Care,  good  food,  quiet,  and  total  abstinence  from  any  sort: 
of  spirituous  poison, — this  rigime  can  avert,  and  probably 
check  any  fresh  symptoms, — in  some  cases  a normal  con- 
dition can  be  attained  which  \ery  nearly  approaches  com- 
plete cure.  More  than  this  would  be  impossible  to 
human  skill  . . .” 

“ Thanks  ! ” I murmured,  lying  back  on  my  bed  agairn 
“You  are  very  good  ! I will  think  over  what  you  say; 
though  to  tell  you  the  truth,  it  seems  to  me  quite  as 
agreeable  to  be  mad  as  sane  in  this  monotonous  world  ! ” 

He  moved  away  from  me  to  the  table  where  he  sat 
down  and  wrote  a prescription.  I noted  his  appearance 
drowsily, — his  sleek  head,  his  well-fitting  clothes, — the 
clean,  pale,  business-looking  hand  that  guided  the  pen. 

“ Voyons  /”  I said,  with  a laugh, — “ In  all  the  range  of 
your  experience,  did  you  ever  know  an  absintheur  give  up 
Absinthe  ? — even  for  the  sake  of  6 duty  and  conscience  ’ ? ” 

He  made  no  answer — he  merely  took  up  his  hat,  looked 
into  the  crown  of  it,  bowed  slightly,  and  took  his  depart- 
ure. 

A couple  of  weeks  later  on  I was  able  to  rise  from  my 
bed  and  crawl  about  again,  and  then  it  was  that  I found  I 
was  getting  very  short  of  money.  My  illness  had  cost  me 
dear ; — and  I soon  recognized  that  I should  have  to  va- 
cate my  already  poor  apartment  for  one  in  some  still 
cheaper  and  lower  quarter.  And  I should  have  to  do 
something  for  a living, — something,  if  it  were  but  to  beg 
for  pence, — something  even  to  obtain  the  necessary  coins, 
wherewith  to  purchase  Absinthe.  And  one  day,  the 
weather  being  warm  and  sunny,  I wandered  into  the 
Tuileries  gardens  and  sat  there,  drowsily  pondering  on 


/ 


WORMWOOD 


34* 


tny  own  fate, — turning  over  the  pros  and  cons  of  my  miser- 
able existence,  and  wondering  what  I should  do  to  enable 
myself  to  live  on.  For  worthless  as  my  life  was, — worth- 
less as  I knew  it  to  be,  I did  not  want  to  die, — I had  not 
the  necessary  ct  urage  for  that. 

All  at  once  like  a rainbow  of  hope  in  a dark  sky,  there 
came  to  me  the  thought  of  Heloise  St.  Cyr.  Her  fair 
and  saintly  presence  seemed  to  pass,  a holy  vision,  before 
my  sight, — and  in  my  weak  and  debilitated  state,  the  tears 
rushed  to  my  eyes  at  the  mere  remembrance  of  her 
womanly  truth  and  sweetness.  Her  voice,  with  its  soft 
musical  cadence  seemed  to  float  invitingly  towards  me, — 
may, — I even  fancied  I heard  the  melodies  of  the  violin 
she  played  so  well,  echoing  faintly  through  the  quiet  air. 
I would  go  to  her,  I thought; — would  go,  while  I was 
crushed  and  broken  down  by  the  effects  of  my  illness, 
I would  tell  her  all  and  plead  for  pity — for  pardon  ; — I 
"would  ask  her  to  help  me, — to  save  me  from  myself  as 
only  a good  woman,  God’s  angel  on  earth,  ever  can  save 
a wretched  man.  And  if  she  wished — if  she  commanded 
it — I would, — yes  ! I would  actually  give  up  absinthe  for 
her  sake, — -she  should  do  with  me  what  she  would, — my 
wrecked  life  should  be  hers  to  dominate  as  she  chose ! 

I rose  up  hastily,  the  tears  still  in  my  eyes,— and,  lean- 
ing on  a stick,  for  I was  unable  to  walk  without  this  sup- 
port, I made  my  way  with  painfully  slow  step  stowards 
the  house  of  the  De  Charmilles.  For  all  I knew  the 
Countess  and  her  niece  might  not  be  there, — they  might 
have  gone  south  for  the  winter.  Still  I felt  that  I must 
make  an  attempt,  however  futile,  to  see  the  only  creature 
in  the  world  who  could,  just  at  this  juncture  in  my  life, 
possibly  even  now  be  my  saviour  ! 

There  were  a great  many  people  in  the  streets;  every- 
thing looked  bright  and  suggestive  of  pleasure — the  sun- 
shine was  brilliant,  and  the  Champs  Elysees  were  crowded 
with  happy  children  sporting  in  the  merry-go-rounds,  and 
driving  in  the  pretty  goat-carriages,  while  their  nurses 
and  governesses  mounted  tender  guard  over  their  innocent 
pastimes.  I thought  I had  never  seen  Paris  wear  such 
a beautiful  a-spect ; — a gentle  mood  was  upon  me, — I 
was  sorrowful  yet  not  despairing, — and  though  I was  not 
actually  cognizant  of  any  poignant  remorse  for  all  the  evil 
I h?d  wrought  I was  conscious  of  a faint,  yearning  desire 


342 


WORMWOOD. 


to  atone.  The  last  little  spark  of  my  better  nature  had 
roused  itself  into  a feeble  glow,  and  it  kindled  within  me 
a sense  of  shame,  a touch  of  late — and  useless — penitence. 
•I  little  knew  how  soon  this  nobler  fire  was  to  be  quenched 
in  darkness  ! — I little  guessed  what  swift  vengeance  the 
wild  Absinthe-witch  can  take  on  any  one  of  her  servitors 
who  dares  to  dream  of  disputing  her  inexorable  authority  ! 

And  by-and-by  my  laggard,  faltering  movements  brought 
me  to  the  familiar  street,— the  well-known  stately  mansion 
where  I had  so  often  been  a welcome  guest  in  happier 
days.  The  gates  stood  open,— but  there  was  something; 
strange  about  the  aspect  of  the  place  that  made  me  rub 
my  eyes  and  stare  in  vaguely  stupid  wonder, — what  dark 
delusion  had  seized  upon  me  now  ? The  gates  stood  open, 
as  I said, — and  the  circumstance  that  awoke  in  me  such 
dull  confusion  and  amazement  was,  that  the  portals  of  the 
hall-door  were  also  flung  wide  apart,  and  the  whole  en- 
trance was  hung  with  draperies  of  black  festooned  with 
white  ; heavy  draperies  that  trailed  mournfully  like  droop- 
ing banners,  down  to  the  ground  below.  Again  I rubbed 
my  eyes  violently — I could  not  believe  their  testimony — - 
they  had  so  often  deceived  me.  Was  this  a spectral 
hallucination  ? I advanced  hesitatingly — I ascended  the 
steps — I approached  those  dreary  black  hangings  and 
touched  them ; — they  were  real, — and  the  hall  beyond 
them  was  dark  and  solemn,  the  gleam  of  a few  tall  candles 
sparkling  here  and  there  like  tapers  in  a tomb.  No  one 
noticed  me,  though  there  were  many  people  passing  in 
and  out — they  were  dressed  in  black  and  moved  softly, — 
they  pressed  handkerchiefs  to  their  eyes  and  wept  as  they 
went  to  and  fro  ; — many  of  them  carried  flowers.  Gradu- 
ally the  meaning  of  the  sombre  scene  dawned  upon  me, 
- — this  was  what  is  called  in  France  a “ chap elle  ardente” 
* — a laying-out  of  the  dead  in  state, — an  opening  of  the 
doors  to  all  comers,  friends  or  foes,  that  they  may  be  en- 
abled to  look  their  last  on  the  face  they  loved  or  hated  3 
A “ chap  die  ardente ” — yes! — but  for  whom?  Who  was 
dead  ? The  answer  hashed  upon  me  at  once, — it  was  the 
widowed  and  unhappy  Comtesse  de  Charmilles  who  had 
gone  the  way  of  all  flesh, — of  course  ! — it  must  be  she  l 
Bereft  of  husband  and  child,  what  more  natural  than  that 
she  should  have  wearied  of  life,  and  longed  to  jcin  her 
lost  loved  ones ! — and  fresh  tears  sprang  to  my  eyes  as  X 


WORMWOOD. 


343 


realized  the  certainty  that  this  was  so.  Poor  soul ! — I 
remembered  her  quiet  grace  and  reposeful  dignity — 'her 
charming  manners,  her  queenly  yet  sweet  maternal  ways 
— her  invariable  kindness  and  gentleness  to  me  when 
I was  her  son-in-law  in  prospective.  And  now  she  was 
no  more,— -she  had  sunk  down,  broken-hearted,  to  the 
grave, — and  in  her  death  I felt  that  I too  had  the  most 
cruel  share  ! 

“ Wretched  man  that  I am  ! ” I thought,  as  I leaned 
feebly  against  the  great  staircase,  up  and  down  which  the 
visitors  .were  going  and  returning.  “Iam  accursed! — 
and  only  Heloise  can  free  me  of  my  curse  ! ” 

Mastering  my  emotion  by  an  effort,  I addressed  a maid- 
servant  who  passed  me  at  the  moment. 

“ She  is  dead  ? ” I asked  in  hushed  accents. 

“ Alas,  yes,  monsieur  ! She  is  dead  ! ” 

And  the  girl  broke  into  tears  as  she  spoke,  and  hurried 
away. 

I awaited  another  minute  or  two,— then  gathering  up 
my  strength,  I ascended  the  stairs  slowly  with  the  rest  of 
the  silent,  tip- toe  treading  mourners.  The  smell  of  fresh 
incense,  mingling  with  the  heavy  perfume  of  lilies,  was 
wafted  towards  me  as  I came  nearer  and  nearer  the 
chamber  which  was  now  turned  into  a high  altar  of  death’s 
service, — a glimmer  of  white  hangings  caught  my  eyes, — ■ 
white  flowers, — all  white  ! Strange  ! — white,  pure  white, 
was  for  those  who  died  young  ! And  the  pretty  phraseol- 
ogy of  an  old  French  madrigal  passed  through  my  memory 
involuntarily  : 

“Comme  la  rose  quitte  la  branche  du  rosier 
La  jeunesse  quitte  la  vie ; 

Celles  qui  mourront  jeune, 

Onles  couvrira  de  fleurs  nouvelles; 

Et  du  milieu  de  ces  fleurs 
Elies  s’eleveront  vers  le  del, 

Comme  le  passe-vole  du  calice  des  roses  1 19 

Another  step — another — hush — hush  ! What  beautous 
still-faced  angel  was  that,  pillowed  among  pale  cyclamens 
and  tranced  in  frozen  sleep  ? . . . 

I dashed  aside  the  silken  hangings, — like  a madman  I 
rushed  forward.  . . . 

“ Heloise  /”  I shrieked.  “ 


Heloise  ! ” 


344 


WORMWOOD. 


Dead — dead ! Grovelling  on  the  ground  in  wild  agony, 
I clutched  handfuls  of  the  flowers  with  which  her  funeral 
couch  was  strewn — I groaned — I sobbed — I raved  ! — I 
could  have  killed  myself  then  in  the  furious  frenzy  of  my 
horror  and  despair  ! 

“ Heloise  ! ” I cried  again  and  again.  “ Heloise  ! 
Wake  ! Speak  to  me ! Curse  me  ! Love  me  ! Oh 
God,  God  ! you  are  not  dead  ! — not  dead ! Heloise  ! — 
Heloise  ! ” 

< The  fair  face  seemed  to  smile  serenely.  “ I am  safe  ! 99 
was  its  mute  expression.  “ Safe  from  evil — safe  from 
sorrow — safe  from  love — safe  from  you  ! I have  escaped 
your  touch, — your  look — your  voice — and  all  the  bitter- 
ness of  ever  having  known  you  ! And  being  now  grown 
wise  in  death  I pardon — I pity  you  ! — Leave  me  to  rest  in 
peace  ! 99 

Shaken  by  tearless  sobs  of  mortal  agony,  I gazed  dis- 
tractedly upon  that  maiden  image  of  sweet  wisdom  and 
repose ; — the  3oose  gold  hair,  unbound  to  its  full  rippling 
length,  caught  flickers  from  the  sunlight  through  the 
window-pane, — the  fringed  white  eyelids  fast  closed  in 
eternal  sleep  were  delicately  indented  as  though  some 
angel’s  finger-tips  had  pressed  them  dovfti  caressingly, — 
the  waxen-hands  were  folded  meekly  across  the  bosom, 
where  a knot  of  virgin  lilies  wept  out  fragrance  in  lieu  of 
tears.  Dead — dead  ! Why  had  Death  taken  her? — why 
had  God  wanted  her — God,  who  has  so  many  saints — - 
why  could  He  not  have  spared  her  to  the  earth  whichhas 
so  few ! Dead  ! — and  with  her  had  died  my  last  hope  of 
good, — my  last  chance  of  rescue  ! And  I buried  my  head 
again  among  the  odorous  funeral  flowers  and  wept  as  I 
had  never  wept  before, — as  I shall  never  have  sufficient 
heart  or  conscience  in  me  to  weep  again ! 

Suddenly  a hand  touched  me  gently  on  the  shoulder. 

“ Senor ! 99 

The  voice  was  that  of  a stranger, — the  accent  Spanish 
— and  I looked  up  in  sullen  wrath, — who  was  it  that  dared 
thus  to  intrude  upon  my  misery  ? . . . A man  stood  be'' 
side  me, — a lithe,  dark  creature  with  soft  brilliant  brown 
eyes, — eyes  that  just  then  were  swimming  in  tears  ; his 
whole  mobile  face  expressed  emotion  and  sympathy — and 
in  one  hand  he  held — a violin. 

“ Senor — he  again  murmured  gently.  “ Let  me  em 


WORMWOOD. 


34S 


treat  of  you  to  restrain  your  grief  ! It  alarms  the  people 
who  come  to  render  their  last  homage — it  unnerves  them  ! 
See  you ! — we  are  alone  in  this  room — the  others  are 
afraid  to  enter.  Pray,  pray  do  not  give  way  to  such  dis- 
traction ! — she  was  happy  in  dying, — her  health  had  de- 
clined for  some  time  and  she  was  glad  to  go, — and  her 
death  was  beautiful, — it  was  the  quiet  falling  asleep  of  in- 
nocence ! ” 

His  look,  his  words,  his  manner  bewildered  me. 

“ You  saw  her  die  ? ” I muttered  confusedly.  “ You 
wyou ” 

“ Helas  ! fiauvre  enfant!  she  passed  away  with  her 
hand  in  mine ! ” he  answered  softly,  and  as  he  spoke,  he 
took  up  a cluster  of  flowers  from  the  couch,  and,  kissing 
them,  laid  them  again  in  their  former  position. 

I rose  to  my  feet  trembling  violently,  a sombre  wrath 
gaining  possession  of  my  soul. 

“ And  who  are  you  ? ” I said.  “ Why  are  you  here  ? ” 

“ I am  Valdez,  the  violinist,”  he  replied, — and  then  I 
recollected, — this  was  the  very  “ maestro  ” about  whose 
performances  Heloise  had  used  to  be  so  enthusiastic. 
“ I came  hither  because  she  sent  for  me/’  he  continued. 
“ I travelled  all  the  way  from  Russia.  She  wanted  me, — 
it  was  to  give  me  this,  before  she  died.” 

And  he  touched  the  violin  he  held, — her  violin  ! — her 
chiefest  treasure ! — and  she  had  bestowed  it  upon  him  / 

A sickening  suspicion  arose  in  me  and  almost  choked 
my  utterance.  What  bond  had  there  been  between  her 
— the  dead  Heloise — and  this  man,  the  musical  puppet  of 
a mob’s  capricious  favor  ? WThat  if  she  had  not  died  in- 
nocent after  all  ! . . . 

“ Were  you  her  lover  ? ” I demanded  breathlessly. 

He  drew  back  amazed,  with  a gesture  of  mingled  oain 
and  hauteur. 

“ Her  lover  ? — I ? You  can  jest  in  the  presence  of 
death,  monsieur  ? . . . I love  art, — not  women.” 

I stared  at  him  in  dubious  anger.  The  dead  girl  be- 
fore us  held  some  secret  hidden  behind  her  closed  eyes 
and  set,  smiling  lips, — a secret  I feverishly  craved  to 
fathom  ! 

“ But  she,”  I said.  “ She  must  have  loved  you— to 
have  given  you  that  /” 

And  I pointed  to  the  violin. 


WORMWOOD. 


346 

His  dark  face  lightened  into  a grave  smile, — a new 
and  sudden  interest  flashed  in  his  eyes.  But  he  was 
otherwise  unmoved. 

“ I do  not  see  that  at  all  ” — he  murmured.  “ She 
knew  I would  value  such  a gift, — that  it  would  be  more 
precious  to  me  than  to  any  one  else  in  the  world, — and 
that  is  why  she  was  so  anxious  I should  have  it.  Still, 

. . . she  may  have  loved  me, — secretly,  * as  many  other 
women  have  loved  me, — I never  thought  of  that ! — yet — 
it  is  possible  ! It  was  her  music  I cared  for, — she 
played  divinely !— and  her  violin,  this  violin — is  a treas- 
ure beyond  price  ! Ah  ! what  sounds  I will  invoke  from 
it ! I laid  it  by  her  side  to-day,- — I had  a fancy  that 
some  message  from  the  other  world  might  steal  into  it 
from  her  dead  presence,  and  make  its  tone  more  deep,, 
more  thrilling,  more  absolutely  perfect  and  pure  ! ” 

I advanced  upon  him  in  rough  haste, — something  in  m y 
eyes  must  have  startled  him,  for  he  recoiled  slightly — 
but  I went  close  up  and  laid  my  burning  hands  upon  his 
shoulders. 

“ Be  silent ! ” I gasped  hoarsely.  “ Is  this  the  place  or 
time  to  talk  your  art-jargon  ? Have  you  no  soul,  except 
for  sound  ? She  loved  you  ! — I feel  it, — I know  it — I 
am  sure  of  it — she  loved  you, — yes  ! — you  never  knew 
it  I dare  say, — men  never  do  know  these  things  ! But 
see  what  she  has  done  for  you  ! — she  has  left  her  spirit 
with  you — there — in  that  violin  you  hold  ! — her  graceful 
fancies,  her  noble  thoughts,  her  tenderness,  her  sweet- 
ness— you  have  it  all  imprisoned  there,- — all  to  come 
forth  at  your  bidding  ! When  you  play,  she,  Heloise,. 
will  speak  to  you,  caress  you,  teach  you,  help  you,  com-  ■ 
fort  you  ! — and  I — I hate  you  for  it — I hate  you  ! For  1 
now  I know  she  never  would  have  pitied  me, — never 
•would  have  loved  me  again  as  she  loved  me  once, — for  in 
dying,  she  had  no  thought  for  me — she  only  thought  of 
you — you,  on  whom  Fortune  smiles  from  day  to  day  ! 
Judge  then  how  I hate  you  ! — how  I cannot  do  otherwise 
than  hate  you ! — for  she  has  given  you  all — and  left  me 
nothing  ! Nothing  ! . . . my  God  ! — nothing!  ” 

And  with  a savage  cry  I flung  him  from  me  and  rushed 
from  the  room,  not  daring  to  look  again  on  the  white 
angel-face  of  that  dead  woman  who  smiled  with  such 
triumphant  sweetness,  with  such  indifferent  coldness,  o& 


WORMWOOD . 


34? 

my  desperate  despair  ! I saw  people  make  terrified  way 
for  me  as  I ran, — I heard  some  one  exclaim  that  I was 
mad  with  grief  ! — but  I paid  no  heed, — whether  I was  rec- 
ognized or  not  I neither  knew  nor  cared ! Out  into  the 
street  I plunged,  as  it  were,  into  the  thick  of  the  passers- 
by  ..  . could  I not  lose  myself,  I wildly  thought ! — could 
I not  obliterate  myself  from  sight  and  sense  and  speech 
and  action  ? — was  there  not  some  deep  wide  open  grave 
into  which  I could  fall  swooningly  and  there  be  covered 
in  before  I had  time  to  suffer  or  struggle  ? Oh,  for  a sud- 
den death  without  pain  ! — oh  ! for  a swift  cessation  to 
this  scorching  bitterness  in  my  blood — this  heavy  aching 
of  my  heart ! Sick  to  the  very  dregs  of  misery,  I raved 
for  days  in  feverish  agony, — agony  that  was  blind,  des- 
perate, hopeless,  helpless,  cureless  ! What  spectres  stood 
beside  me  then  ! — what  horrid  voices  shouted  in  my  ears  ! 
— how  strange  and  loathly  the  half-formed  creatures  that 
followed  me  and  mouthed  at  me,  gibbering  in  uncouth 
speech  scarcely  intelligible  ! — how  the  murdered  man 
Silvion  came  and  looked  at  me  as  at  some  foul  thing  ! — 
how  Pauline,  fair  and  pale,  with  a dying  sweetness  in  her 
smile  drifted  by  me,  finely  fairy-like  as  a fleecy  cloud  in 
summer-time ! — and,  ah  God  ! how  the  soft  large  eyes  of 
Heloise  beamed  piteous  wonder  and  reproach  upon  me 
like  bland  stars  shining  solemnly  on  a criminal  in  his 
cell ! Those  eyes — those  eyes  ! — they  tortured  me, — their 
mildness  chilled  me  ! — their  pure  and  unimpassioned 
lustre  shamed  me  ! — they  were  angels’  eyes,  and  their 
holy  innocence  scared  and  shook  me  to  the  soul  ! Oh, 
that  horrible  time  ! — oh,  those  dreary,  wild  dark  days  and 
nights  of  utter  loss  and  blank  wretchedness  ! — that  fright- 
ful space  of  torment  in  which  every  nerve  in  my  body 
seemed  torn  and  wrenched  by  devils ! — how  I was  able 
to  live  through  it,  I cannot  tell ! 

And  when,  like  all  other  things,  it  wore-  itself  out  at 
last, — when  I grew  calm,  with  the  dreadful  calmness  of 
sheer  stupefaction  and  exhaustion, — then — then  I realized 
it  all,  and  my  Absinthe-witch  gave  me  a clue  to  the  whole 
mystery  ! There  was  a God! — yes  ! actually  a God — a 
great,  terrific,  cruel,  unforgiving,  awful  Being,  and  He  in 
all  His  omnipotence  had  set  Himself  against  me ! He 
whose  proud  Will  evolved  the  growing  Universe, — He 
had  arrayed  His  mighty  forces  of  Heaven  and  Hell 


WORMWOOD. 


34^ 

against  one  miserable  atom  of  earth ! — and  the  Titanic 
wheels  of  Life,  Time  and  Eternity  were  all  whirled  into 
motion  to  grind  me,  a worm,  down  to  destruction  ! One 
would  think  it  a waste  of  power  on  God’s  part ! — but  He 
would  seem  to  be  most  particular  in  trifles.  Note  how 
■carefully  He  tints  the  rose,  from  deepest  crimson  to  ten- 
derest  pink  ! — how  recklessly  He  drops  the  avalanche  on 
a village  full  of  harmless  souls  asleep ! What  infinite 
pains  He  has  bestowed  on  the  burnish  and  hue  of  the  pea- 
cock’s plume  ; — all  to  make  of  a useless  bird  with  a harsh 
voice,  a perfect  marvel  of  color  and  brilliancy! — and 
what  'a  deaf  ear  He  turns  to  the  shriek  of  the  murderer’s 
victim  ! Who  will  account  for  these  things  in  Nature’s 
plan  ? It  is  useless  for  any  good  pious  folks  to  tell  me 
that  my  miseries  are  my  own  fault.  What  have  I done,  I 
pray  you,  save  drink  Absinthe?  I have  poisoned  my 
brain  and  blood  ! — well — but  how  ridiculously  small  the 
'seed  from  which  such  grim  results  have  sprung!  /am 
not  to  blame  if  the  Creator  has  done  His  work  badly, — if 
He  has  made  the  brain  so  delicate  and  the  spirit  so  ^vola- 
tile that  its  quality  and  comprehension  vanish  at  the  touch 
of — Wormwood.  Nothing  but  wormwood, — it  is  a plant 
as  well  as  a metaphor, — and  God  made  it ! God  gives  us 
plenty  of  it  in  our  lives,  aswell  as  in  our  liquor  ! — and  the 
preachers  tell  us  bitterness  is  very  wholesome  ! Every- 
thing is  God’s  work — even  evil, — and  when,  with  the  aid 
of  my  life’s  elixir,  I grasped  this  fact  thoroughly,  I saw  it 
was  no  use  offering  any  more  resistance  to  fate.  For  I 
was  left  without  the  smallest  vestige  of  hope, — the  little 
spark  of  penitence  in  me  had  been  revived  too  late,— and 
throughout  the  whole  drama , no  one  had  thought  of  met 
Silvion  Guidel  had  died  thinking  of  Pauline,— Pauline  had 
drowned,  with  the  name  of  her  lover  on  her  lips, — and 
Heloise,  even  Heloise,  had  bestowed  her  last  word,  her 
last  looks,  not  on  me,  but  on  a comparative  stranger — a 
mere  musical  virtuoso  ! God’s  meaning  was  made  plain  ! 
I was  left  to  my  own  devices, — it  was  shown  me  distinctly 
that  my  life  was  without  interest  to  any  one  but  myself. 
I accepted  the  hint.  As  it  was  decreed  so  it  must  be, — 
and  I did  as  Andre  Gessonex  had  done  before  me, — killed 
the  last  vestige  of  my  flickering  conscience  in  me  with  a 
iinal  blow, — and  became — what  I am! 


WORMWOOD. 


349 


L’ENVOI. 

And  what  am  I i My  dear  friends,  I have  told  you,-— 
an  absintheur ! Absintheur , pur  et  simple ! — voila  toutt 
I am  a thing  more  abject  than  the  lowest  beggar  that 
crawls  through  Paris  whining  for  a soul !— I am  a slink- 
ing, shuffling  beast,  half  monkey,  half  man,  whose  aspect 
is  so  vile,  whose  body  is  so  shaken  with  delirium,  whose 
eyes  are  so  murderous,  that  if  you  met  me  by  chance 
in  the  day-time,  you  would  probably  shriek  for  sheer 
alarm  ! But  you  will  not  see  me  thus — daylight  and  I 
are  not  friends.  I have  become  like  a bat  or  an  owl; 
in  my  hatred  of  the  sun  ! — it  shone  gloriously  when, 
Heloise  was  lying  dead, — I have  not  forgotten  that ! . . . 
At  night  I live;  at  night  I creep  out  with  the  other  ob- 
scure things  of  Paris,  and  by  my  very  presence,  add 
fresh  pollution  to  the  moral  poisons  in  the  air  ! I gain 
pence  by  the  meanest  errands, — I help  others  to  vice, — 
and  whenever  I have  the  opportunity  I draw  down 
weak  youths,  mothers’  darlings,  to  the  brink  of  ruin* 
and  topple  them  over — if  I can.  For  twenty  francs* 
you  can  purchase  me  body  and  soul, — for  twenty  francs. 
I will  murder  or  steal, — all  true  absintheurs  are  pur- 
chasable! For  they  are  the  degradation  of  Paris, — 
the  canker  of  the  city — the  slaves  ml  a mean  insatiable 
madness  which  nothing  but  death  can  cure.  Death  ! — 
that  word  reminds  me, — I have  the  means  of  death  in 
my  power  and  yet — I cannot  die  ! Strange,  is  it  not  ? 

. . . A little  while  ago  I came  upon  one  of  my  class  in 
dire  distress, — he  had  been  a noted  chemist  in  his  day, — 
but  he  is  nothing  now — nothing  but  an  absintheur , who 
suffers  grinding  physical  tortures  when  he  has  no  money 
wherewith  to  purchase  what  has  become  the  emerald 
life-blood  of  his  veins.  I found  him  in  a fit  of  rage* 
rolling  in  his  garret  and  howling  imprecations  on  all 
mankind — he  was  just  in  the  mood  to  do  what  I aske<& 


35<> 


WORMWOOD. 


of  him.  It  was  a trifle ! — a mere  friendly  exchange  of 
poisons  ! I gave  him  the  absinthe  for  which  he  craved 
so  desperately, — and  in  return,  he  prepared  for  me  a 
little  phial  of  liquid,  crystal-clear  as  a diamond,  harmless- 
looking  as  spring-water — a sritall  draught,  which  if  once  I 
have  the  courage  to  swallow,  will  give  me  an  instant  exit 
from  the  world  ! Imagine  it ! — I shall  not  suffer  I am 
told,— first  a giddiness — then  a darkness, — and  that  is 
all.  I take  it  out  often — that  little  glittering  flask  of 
death, — I look  at  it,— I wonder  at  it, — for  it  is  the  key 
to  the  Eternal  Secret, — but  I dare  not  drink  its  contents  * 
I dare  not,  I tell  you! — I am  afraid — horribly  afraid! — 
any  condemned  criminal  is  braver  than  I ! For  the 
longer  I live,  the  more  I realize  that  this  death  is  not 
the  aclual  end, , — there  is  something  afterwards  ! — and 
it  is  the  Afterwards  that  appals  me.  Life  is  precious  I 
- — yes,  even  my  life,  surrounded  with  phantoms,  dark- 
ened with  delirium,  enfeebled  by  vice  and  misery  as.  it  is, 
it  is  precious  ! I know  its  best  and  worst, — its  value  and 
worthlessness  ; — I can  measure  it  and  scorn  it, — I can 
laugh  at  it  and  love  it ! — I can  play  with  myself  and  it 
as  a tiger  plays  with  its  torn  and  bleeding  prey ! — and 
knowing  it,  I cling  to  it — I do  not  want  to  be  hurled  into 
what  I do  ?iot  know  ! Some  day  perhaps — when  a blind, 
dark  fury  overcomes  my  brain,— when  spectres  clutch  at 
me  and  sense  and  memory  reel  into  chaos,  then  I may 
drink  the  fatal  draught  I bear  about  with  me  : — but  I 
shall  be  truly  mad  when  I do  ! — too  mad  to  realize  my 
own  act ! I shall  never  part  with  life  consciously,  or 
* while  the  faintest  glimmer  of  reason  remains  in  me; — 
be  sure  of  that ! I love  life — especially  life  in  Paris  !— 
I love  to  think  that  I and  my  compeers  in  Absinthe  are 
a blot  and  a disgrace  on  the  fairest  city  under  the  sun  ! 
— I love  to  meditate  on  the  crass  stupidity  of  our  rulers, 
who  though  gravely  forbidding  the  sale  of  poisons  to  the 
general  public,  permit  the  free  enjoyment  of  Absinthe 
everywhere ! — I watph  with  a scientific  interest  the 
mental  and  moral  deterioration  of  our  young  men,  and  I 
take  a pride  in  helping  them  on  to  their  downfall  ! — I 
love  to  pervert  idea’s,  to  argue  falsely,  to  mock  at  virtue*, 
to  jeer  at  faith,  and  to  instil  morbid  sentiments  into  the 
minds  of  those  who  listen  to  me; — and  I smile  as  I see 
bow  “ La  reva?iche  ” is  dying  out,  and  how  content  the 


h'V?  RMWOOD. 


35* 


absinthe-drinker  is  to  crouch  before  the  stalwart,  honest, 
beer-bred  Teuton  ! It  is  a grand  sight ! — and  we  are  a 
glorious  people !— just  the  sort  of  beings  who  are  con- 
stituted to  caper  and  make  mouths  at  “ perfide  Albion  ” — 
and  capture  mild  English  tourists  in  mistake  for  German 
spies  ! All  is  for  the  best ! — Let  us  drink  and  dream  and 
dance  and  carouse  and  let  the  world  go  by  ! Let  us 
make  a mere  empty  boast  of  honor, — and  play  off  spark- 
ling witticisms  against  purity, — let  us  encourage  our 
writers  and  dramatists  to  pen  obscenities,— our  painters 
to  depict  repulsive  nudities — our  public  men  to  talk  loud 
inanities — our  women  to  practise  all  the  wiles  of  wan- 
tons and  cocottes ! But  with  this,  let  us  never  forget  to 
been  thusiastic  when  we  are  called  upon  to  sing  the 
“ Marseillaise.”  How  does  it  go  ? — 

“ Amour  sacre  de  la  patrie 
Conduis,  soutiens  nos  bras  vengeurs,— 

Liberte,  liberty  cherie 

Combats  avec  tes  defenseurs ! 

Sous  nos  drapeaux  que  la  Victoire 
Accoure  a tes  males  accents 
Que  tes  ennemis  expirants 

Voient  ton  triomphe  et  notre  gloire  ! ’* 

Just  so  ! Let  us  always  glorify  Liberty,  though  we  are 
slaves  to  a vice ! Lift  up  your  voices,  good  countrymen, 

in  chorus  ! — 

“ Aux  armes  citoyens  ! Formez  vos  battaillons ! 

Marchons  ! qu’un  sang  impur  abreuve  nos  sillons ! ” 

Bravo  ! — Only  let  us  roar  this  loudly  enough,  with 
frantic  tossing  of  arms  and  waving  of  banners, — with 
blare  of  trumpets,  with  tears  and  emotional  embraces, 
and  we  shall  perhaps  by  noise  and  blague , if  by  nothing 
else,  convince  ourselves  if  we  cannot  convince  other 
nations,  that  France  is  as  great,  as  pure  and  as  powerful 
as  she  was  in  her  Lily-days  of  old  ! We  can  shut  our 
eyes  to  her  decaying  intelligence,  her  beaten  condition, — 
her  cheap  cynicism,  her  passive  atheism,  her  gross  ma- 
terialism,— we  can  cheat  ourselves  into  believing  that  a 
nation  can  thrive  on  Poison, — we  can  do  anything  so 
long  as  we  hold  fast  to  the  Marseillaise  and  the  Tricolor ! 
Mere  symbols  ! — and  we  scarcely  trust  them, — but  never- 


WORMWOOD. 


352 

theless  they  are  our  last  chance  of  safety ! France  is 
France  still, — but  the  conqueror’s  tread  is  on  her  soil — 
and  we— we  have  borne  it  and  still  can  bear  it— we  have 
forgotten — we  forget ! What  should  we  want  with. 
Victory  ? — We  have  Absinthe  1 


